No sooner had Susan and her cousins left their box at the intermission than they came face to face with Miss Crawford and a gentleman exiting another box a few doors down. The gentleman was a stranger to Susan but the similarity of his appearance to the lady was such as made his identity as obvious as it was unanticipated.
Julia stopped dead and even Miss Crawford, usually so self-possessed, blushed and hesitated. Her brother too seemed struck by astonishment at the sight of the party. Only Mr. Yates, whose happy disposition did not admit of any embarrassment, was unperturbed.
“Crawford!” he boomed. “This is capital! No idea you were in the country, let alone in town! It's been years! But of course we should meet at the theatre - where else? You remember my wife, of course? And this is her cousin, Miss Price. Susan, this is the famous Mr. Crawford.”
Susan was as surprised as the others but for different reasons. This was the infamous Mr. Crawford? Her cousin had ruined herself and plunged her family into disgrace for him? Why, he was such a short and slight man! Susan was on the taller side of average for her sex but she was nevertheless unaccustomed to stand eye to eye with a man in the way she was able to with Mr. Crawford. And those expressive, dark features - so elegant and pretty on his sister - were not so attractive on the gentleman. He cut an insignificant sort of figure, especially when put next to the broad bulk of Mr. Yates, who loomed over them all in his usual way. She had only met him briefly many years ago but he had seemed taller and more impressive in her memory.
What was she to say to him? She did not desire an introduction; indeed, Yates probably ought not to have done it. She could not see Julia’s expression but her silence was speech enough. Perhaps she could cut him, she could give him the cut direct and walk straight past him with her head held high and Fanny in her heart… except of course that she did not dare.
In the event, he was the first to speak. The awkwardness and evident embarrassment of his address as well as its obvious insincerity as he reacquainted himself with Mrs. Yates and professed a delight to meet Miss Price gave Susan the courage to respond with a clear and direct look, “How do you do, Mr. Crawford? But we have met before in Portsmouth five years ago; perhaps you do not recall.”
Surprise crossed his face. “I do recall our meeting. How could I forget?”
How indeed? Later, she would think of many retorts, albeit none of them suitable to be spoken aloud. Instead she found herself asking if was enjoying the play.
“With reservations,” he replied, his gaze never straying from hers. “And yourself, Miss Price?”
“Tolerably,” said Susan at the same time as Mr. Yates jumped in to inform them that this was Miss Price’s first ever visit to the theatre and how important it was that it was to such a wonderful production as The Distress’d Mother and had they ever seen anything so touching as Andromache’s tragic devotion?
“I find her a little too pious for my own taste,” interjected Miss Crawford. “I find myself drawn to Hermione and I cannot feel ashamed of it. But you have a very fine performance in Orestes for your first play, Miss Price. You have chosen well.”
Susan acknowledged that it was so and that she was very much looking forward to seeing him go mad in the final act. Yates declared there was no better actor anywhere in Europe and seemed on the point of anticipating the mad scene itself in the corridor when Julia finally roused herself to insist that the performance must be starting soon and hurried Susan back into the box, leaving the Crawfords behind to make of Mr. Yates’ paroxysms of dramatic enthusiasm what they would.
As for Susan, her spirit was disturbed by the meeting but she was determined that Mr. Crawford should not have any power over her - he had done quite enough damage by the Bertrams already for her to wish to give him any further satisfaction. Her attention should be devoted solely to the progress of the drama on stage before her. Nevertheless, it was strange to think that such a man should have been so captivating to both her cousins - he was not even handsome! And his address, well, there was nothing extraordinary about it. She could not understand it at all. And as for his view of the play, she could not help wondering over his reservations. What a very curious way to respond to her question which she had only asked out of politeness! Really, if he had reservations, he should at the least have said what they were! And so it was that at the end of several hours, when the play finally drew to a close, mad scene and all, having vowed that Mr. Crawford’s name should not even cross her mind, she found to her consternation she had thought of little else.