Yes, dearest, sweetest Fanny.

Nay" (seeing her draw back displeased), "forgive me.

Perhaps I have as yet no right; but by what other name can I call you?
Do you suppose you are ever present to my imagination under any other?
No, it is 'Fanny' that I think of all day, and dream of all night.

You have given the name such reality of sweetness, that nothing else can now be descriptive of you." Fanny could hardly have kept her seat any longer, or have refrained from at least trying to get away in spite of all the too public opposition she foresaw to it, had it not been for the sound of approaching relief, the very sound which she had been long watching for, and long thinking strangely delayed.
The solemn procession, headed by Baddeley, of tea-board, urn, and cake-bearers, made its appearance, and delivered her from a grievous imprisonment of body and mind.

Mr.Crawford was obliged to move.