Mrs. Thornton and Fanny were in the dining-room; the latter in a
flutter of small exultation, as the maid held up one glossy
material after another, to try the effect of the wedding-dresses
by candlelight. Her mother really tried to sympathise with her,
but could not. Neither taste nor dress were in her line of
subjects, and she heartily wished that Fanny had accepted her
brother's offer of having the wedding clothes provided by some
first-rate London dressmaker, without the endless troublesome
discussions, and unsettled wavering, that arose out of Fanny's
desire to choose and superintend everything herself. Mr. Thornton
was only too glad to mark his grateful approbation of any
sensible man, who could be captivated by Fanny's second-rate airs
and graces, by giving her ample means for providing herself with
the finery, which certainly rivalled, if it did not exceed, the
lover in her estimation. When her brother and Mr. Bell came in,
Fanny blushed and simpered, and fluttered over the signs of her
employment, in a way which could not have failed to draw
attention from any one else but Mr. Bell. If he thought about her
and her silks and satins at all, it was to compare her and them
with the pale sorrow he had left behind him, sitting motionless,
with bent head and folded hands, in a room where the stillness
was so great that you might almost fancy the rush in your
straining ears was occasioned by the spirits of the dead, yet
hovering round their beloved. For, when Mr. Bell had first gone
up-stairs, Mrs. Shaw lay asleep on the sofa; and no sound broke
the silence.
Mrs. Thornton gave Mr. Bell her formal, hospitable welcome. She
was never so gracious as when receiving her Son's friends in her
son's house; and the more unexpected they were, the more honour
to her admirable housekeeping preparations for comfort.
'How is Miss Hale?' she asked.
'About as broken down by this last stroke as she can be.' 'I am sure it is very well for her that she has such a friend as
you.' 'I wish I were her only friend, madam. I daresay it sounds very
brutal; but here have I been displaced, and turned out of my post
of comforter and adviser by a fine lady aunt; and there are
cousins and what not claiming her in London, as if she were a
lap-dog belonging to them. And she is too weak and miserable to
have a will of her own.' 'She must indeed be weak,' said Mrs. Thornton, with an implied
meaning which her son understood well. 'But where,' continued
Mrs. Thornton, 'have these relations been all this time that Miss
Hale has appeared almost friendless, and has certainly had a good
deal of anxiety to bear?' But she did not feel interest enough in
the answer to her question to wait for it. She left the room to
make her household arrangements.