Fanny, at first agreeing entirely in his estimate of them, by degrees begins to differ from him, and slowly wakes up to the pain—not yet of suspecting her own feelings for Edmund, but of seeing that she is no longer his first object, and of being unable to agree in his estimate of the Crawfords. She sees more heartlessness in Miss Crawford than Edmund suspects; she perceives more or less of the double game which Edmund is too honourable to dream of, but which Mr. Crawford is playing between the Bertram sisters, and, with increased sufferings she begins to fear that Edmund's hitherto high unswerving standard of right and wrong, is becoming lowered by his admiration for Mary Crawford. It is not the least wonderful that he should be fascinated, for there is an amount of good feeling at times in Mary Crawford that is irresistibly attractive. It has been said that Miss Austen has always more affection for her female characters than her male ones, and I think this is true of the Crawfords; both are worldly, selfish, and untrustworthy, but Henry Crawford has no redeeming points, except his affection for his sister, while we are allowed to feel that Mary has more depth of feeling and that, if earlier in life she had fallen into better hands, she might have been a good and noble woman; Edmund, indeed, believes that she might still become so; Fanny's clearer sight sees that the attempt would be hopeless. The complications thicken when some private theatricals are started at Mansfield Park, ostensibly to while away the time till Sir Thomas returns, but really to amuse Tom Bertram and his friends; and the description of them from first to last is excellent, but too long to quote at length, though the opening difficulties will
