"Yes, I was thinking of you; and if you will forgive any interference in your affairs,—from your father's old friend,—I should be greatly honored by your permission to ask Trevanion what he supposes is to be the ultimate benefit of the horrible labor he inflicts upon you."
"But, my dear Sir Sedley, I like the labors; I am perfectly contented."
"Not to remain always secretary to one who, if there were no business to be done among men, would set about teaching the ants to build hills upon better architectural principles! My dear sir, Trevanion is an awful man, a stupendous man, one catches fatigue if one is in the same room with him three minutes! At your age,—an age that ought to be so happy,"—continued Sir Sedley, with a compassion perfectly angelically "it is sad to see so little enjoyment!"
"But, Sir Sedley, I assure you that you are mistaken, I thoroughly enjoy myself; and have I not heard even you confess that one may be idle and not happy?"
"I did not confess that till I was on the wrong side of forty!" said Sir Sedley, with a slight shade on his brow. "Nobody would ever think you were on the wrong side of forty!" said I, with artful flattery, winding into my subject. "Miss Trevanion, for instance?"
I paused. Sir Sedley looked hard at me, from his bright dark-blue eyes.
"Well, Miss Trevanion for instance?"
"Miss Trevanion, who has all the best-looking fellows in London round her, evidently prefers you to any of them."
I said this with a great gulp. I was obstinately bent on plumbing the depth of my own fears.
Sir Sedley rose; he laid his hand kindly on mine, and said, "Do not let
Fanny Trevanion torment you even more than her father does!"
"I don't understand you, Sir Sedley."