Miss Bertram was the one.

Edmund and Julia were invited to dine at the Parsonage, and _she_ was excluded.
It was meant and done by Mrs.Grant, with perfect good-humour, on Mr.
Rushworth's account, who was partly expected at the Park that day; but it was felt as a very grievous injury, and her good manners were severely taxed to conceal her vexation and anger till she reached home.
As Mr.Rushworth did _not_ come, the injury was increased, and she had not even the relief of shewing her power over him; she could only be sullen to her mother, aunt, and cousin, and throw as great a gloom as possible over their dinner and dessert.
Between ten and eleven Edmund and Julia walked into the drawing-room, fresh with the evening air, glowing and cheerful, the very reverse of what they found in the three ladies sitting there, for Maria would scarcely raise her eyes from her book, and Lady Bertram was half-asleep; and even Mrs.Norris, discomposed by her niece's ill-humour, and having asked one or two questions about the dinner, which were not immediately attended to, seemed almost determined to say no more.

For a few minutes the brother and sister were too eager in their praise of the night and their remarks on the stars, to think beyond themselves; but when the first pause came, Edmund, looking around, said, "But where is Fanny?
Is she gone to bed ?" "No, not that I know of," replied Mrs.Norris; "she was here a moment ago." Her own gentle voice speaking from the other end of the room, which was a very long one, told them that she was on the sofa.

Mrs.Norris began scolding.
"That is a very foolish trick, Fanny, to be idling away all the evening upon a sofa.

Why cannot you come and sit here, and employ yourself as _we_ do?
If you have no work of your own, I can supply you from the poor basket.