Fanny's First Novel

by Frank Frankfort Moore

He thought that on the whole she would do. Her brother, Lieutenant Burney, would naturally spend most of his time at sea. That was a good thing. Thomas felt that he should hesitate to make any change in his life that involved a liability of frequent visits from a young man who had been taught by a murderer. Who could tell what might happen in the case of such a young man? As for Miss Burney herself, she was, quite apart from her housewifely qualities, a most estimable young lady—modest and retiring, as a young woman should be, and very beautiful. To be sure, he had often heard that beauty was only skin deep, but even assuming that it did not go any deeper, it had always been highly esteemed by men—none of them seemed to wish it to be of any greater depth; and it was certain that a man with a handsome wife was greatly envied—more so even than a man who was married to a plain woman but a good housewife. Oh, undoubtedly her beauty commended her to his most indulgent consideration. He had no objection in the world to be widely envied, if only on account of his wife's good looks. It never occurred to him that it might be that some people would think very ordinary a face that seemed to one who was in love with it extremely lovely. He preserved the precious privilege of a man to raise up his own standard of beauty and expect all the rest of the world to acknowledge its supremacy.

Yes, he thought that Miss Burney, beauty and all, would suit him, but still he hesitated in making another call.

This was when Mr. Kendal had the honour of waiting upon Mrs. Burney, and his visit only preceded by a day or two Mrs. Burney's call upon her old friend, Mrs. Barlowe, in the Poultry; this interchange of courtesies being speedily followed by an invitation for Mrs. Burney and a stepdaughter to drink tea with the Barlowe family.

“I am taking you with me, Fanny, because you are the eldest and, as should be, the most sensible of the household,” said Mrs. Burney, explaining—so far as she thought wise—the invitation on the morning it was received. “There will be no music at Mrs. Barlowe's, I think, and so you will have no distracting influence to prevent your forming a just opinion of my old friends.”

“I do not mind in the least the absence of music for one night,” said Fanny.

“I am sure of that,” said Mrs. Burney. “Goodness knows we have music enough here during any day to last us over a whole week. The others could not live without it, even if it were not your father's profession.”

“Without which none of us could live,” remarked Fanny, who had no wish to be forced into the position of the opponent of music in the household.

“Quite right, my dear,” acquiesced the elder lady. “It is a precarious way of making a living. To my mind there is nothing so satisfactory as a good commercial business—a merchant with a shop at his back can afford to laugh at all the world.”

“But he usually refrains,” said Fanny.

“True; he looks at life with proper seriousness, and without levity. Great fortunes are the result of serious attention to business. Levity leads to poverty.”