She was too
deeply shocked. She went, feebly, and sat down in a chair, and covered
her face with her hands.
Fanny eyed her with pity. "There!" said she, almost crying, "I never tell
the truth but I bitterly repent it."
Zoe took no notice of this droll apothegm. Her hands began to work. "What
shall I do!" she said. "What shall I do!"
"Oh, don't go on like that, Zoe!" cried Fanny. "After all, it is you he
prefers. He ran away from her."
"Ah, yes. But why?--why? What has he done?"
"Jilted her. I suppose. Aunt Maitland thinks he is after money; and, you
know, you have got money."
"Have I nothing else?" said the proud beauty, and lifted her bowed head
for a moment.
"You have everything. But you should look things in the face. Is that
singer an unattractive woman?"
"Oh, no. But she is not poor. Her kind of talent is paid enormously."
"That is true," said Fanny. "But perhaps she wastes it. She is a gambler,
like himself."
"Let him go to her," said Zoe, wildly; "I will share no man's heart."
"He will never go to her, unless--well, unless we tell him that she has
broken the bank with his money."
"If you think so badly of him, tell him, then, and let him go.
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