"First, a sick friend; then a bleeding at the nose; and now he won't
drive to the lake with us. Arrears of correspondence? Pooh!"

Now, Fanny's suspicions were deeper than Zoe's; she had observed Severne
keenly: but it was not her cue to speak. She yawned and said, "What
_does_ it matter?"

"Don't be unkind, Fanny. It matters to _me."_

"Not it. You have another ready."

"What other? There is no one that I-- Fanny."

"Oh, nonsense! The man is evidently smitten, and you keep encouraging
him."

"No, I don't; I am barely civil. And don't be ill-natured. What _can_ I
do?"

"Why, be content with one at a time."

"It is very rude to talk so. Besides, I haven't got one, much less two. I
begin to doubt _him;_ and, Lord Uxmoor! you know I cannot possibly care
for him--an acquaintance of yesterday."

"But you know all about him--that he is an excellent _parti,"_ said
Fanny, with a provoking sneer.

This was not to be borne.