"
"I haven't," said she; "but you need not complain. She wishes she were
here."
"So do I. Will you help me?"
"No, I shall not. You can make love to me. I am tired of never being made
love to."
"Well," said this ingenuous youth, "you certainly do not get your deserts
in this house. Even I am so blinded by my passion for Zoe, that I forget
she does not monopolize all the beauty and grace and wit in the house."
"Go on," said Fanny. "I can bear a good deal of it--after such a fast."
"I have no doubt you can bear a good deal. You are one of those that
inspire feelings, but don't share them. Give me a chance; let me sing you
a song."
"A love song?"
"Of course."
"Can you sing it as well as you can talk it?"
"With a little encouragement. If you would kindly stand at the end of the
piano, and let me see your beautiful eyes fixed on me."
"With disdain?"
"No, no."
"With just suspicion?"
"No; with unmerited pity." And he began to open the piano.
"What! do you accompany yourself?"
"Yes, after a fashion; by that means I don't get run over."
Then this accomplished person fixed his eyes on Fanny Dover, and sung her
an Italian love song in the artificial passionate style of that nation;
and the English girl received it pointblank with complacent composure.
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