he began to talk of going away; but the comfort of the sound was impaired by his turning to her the next moment, and saying, “Have you nothing to send to Mary? No answer to her note? She will be disappointed if she receives nothing from you. Pray write to her, if it be only a line.”

“Oh yes! certainly,” cried Fanny, rising in haste, the haste of embarrassment and of wanting to get away — ”I will write directly.”

She went accordingly to the table, where she was in the habit of writing for her aunt, and prepared her materials without knowing what in the world to say.

She had read Miss Crawford's note only once, and how to reply to anything so imperfectly understood was most distressing. Quite unpractised in such