FANNY. You haven't the pluck! The "County" would laugh at you. You
men are so frightened of being laughed at.

VERNON [he rises]. Well, if it saves us from making asses of
ourselves -

FANNY. Wasn't there a niece of old Bennet's, a girl who had been
brought up abroad, and who WASN'T a domestic servant--never had been-
-who stayed with them here, at the gardener's cottage, for a short
time, some few years ago?

VERNON. You mean poor Rose Bennet's daughter--the one who ran away
and married an organ-grinder.

FANNY. An organ-grinder?

VERNON. Something of that sort--yes. They had her over; did all
they could. A crazy sort of girl; used to sing French ballads on the
village green to all the farm labourers she could collect. Shortened
poor Bennet's life by about ten years. [Laughs.] But why? Not
going to bully me for not having fallen in love with her, are you?
Because that really WASN'T my fault. I never even saw her. 'Twas
the winter we spent in Rome. She bolted before we got back. Never
gave me a chance.

FANNY. I accept the excuse. [Laughs.] No, I was merely wondering
what the "County" would have done if by any chance you had married
HER. Couldn't have said you were marrying into your own kitchen in
her case, because she was never IN your kitchen--absolutely refused