"Dear me," said she piteously, "I don't know what to do, between you and
Aunt Maitland. If I say all I think, I suppose you will hate me; and if I
don't, I shall be told I'm wicked, and don't warn an orphan girl. She
flew at me like a bull-dog before your brother: she said I was
twenty-five, and I only own to twenty-three. And, after all, what could I
say? for I do feel I ought to give you the benefit of my experience, and
make myself as disagreeable as _she_ does. And I _have_ given you a hint,
and a pretty broad one, but you want such plain speaking."
"I do," said Zoe. "So please speak plainly, if you can."
"Ah, you _say_ that."
"And I mean it. Never mind consequences; tell me the truth."
"Like a man, eh? and get hated."
"Men are well worth imitating, in some things. Tell me the truth,
pleasant or not, and I shall always respect you."
"Bother respect. I am like the rest of us; I want to be loved a little
bit. But there--I'm in for it. I have said too much, or too little. I
know that. Well, Zoe, the long and the short is--you have a rival."
Zoe turned rather pale, but was not so much shaken as Fanny expected.
She received the blow in silence.
Pages:
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218