After Mrs. Newt had left the room Mr. Wetherley fell into confusion. He
immediately embarked, of course, upon the weather; while Fanny, taking up
a book, looked casually into it with a slight air of _ennui_.

"Have you read this?" said she to Mr. Wetherley.

"No, I suppose not; eh! what is it?" replied Zephyr, who was not a
reading man.

"It is John Meal's 'Rachel Dyer.'"

"Oh, indeed! No, indeed. I have not read it!"

"What have you read, Mr. Wetherley?" inquired Fanny, glancing through the
book which she held in her hand.

"Oh, indeed!--" he began. Then he seemed to undergo some internal spasm.
He dropped his hat, slid his chair to the side of Fanny's, and said, "Ah,
Miss Newt, how can you ask me at such a moment?"

Miss Fanny looked at him with a perfectly unruffled face.

"Why not at this moment, Mr. Wetherley?"

"Ah, Miss Newt, how can you when you know my feelings? Did you not carry
my bouquet at the theatre last evening? Have you not long authorized me
by your treatment to declare--"

"Stop, Mr. Wetherley," said Fanny, calmly. "The day is warm--let us