"Nor care, I suppose, you hard-hearted thing."
"Why, Fan, what do you mean?"
"I'm not blind, my dear, neither is Tom; and when a young gentleman cuts a call abruptly short, and races after a young lady, and is seen holding her hand at the quietest corner of the park, and then goes travelling all of a sudden, we know what it means, if you don't."
"Who got up that nice idea, I should like to know?" demanded Polly, as Fanny stopped for breath.
"Now don't be affected, Polly, but just tell me, like a dear, hasn't he proposed?"
"No, he hasn't."
"Don't you think he means to?"
"I don't think he'll ever say a word to me."
"Well, I am surprised!" and Fanny drew a long breath as if a load was off her mind. Then she added, in a changed tone,—
"But don't you love him, Polly?"
"No."
"Truly?"
"Truly, Fan."
Neither spoke for a minute, but the heart of one of them beat joyfully, and the dusk hid a very happy face.
"Don't you think he cared for you, dear?" asked Fanny, presently. "I don't mean to be prying, but I really thought he did."
"That's not for me to say; but if it is so, it's only a passing fancy, and he'll soon get over it."
"Do tell me all about it; I'm so interested, and I know something has happened, I hear it in your voice, for I can't see your face."
