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.
"Oh!" said Zoe, "I see; you want him for yourself. It is _you_ that are
not content with one. You forget how poor Harrington would miss your
attentions. He would _begin_ to appreciate them--when he had lost them."
This stung, and Fanny turned white and red by turns. "I deserve this,"
said she, "for wasting advice on a coquette."
"That is not true. I'm no coquette; and here I am, asking your advice,
and you only snub me. You are a jealous, cross, unreasonable thing."
"Well, I'm not a hypocrite."
'I never was called so before," said Zoe, nobly and gently.
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