“How can I know? All is so mysterious,” faltered Zoe. “How do you know?”
“Because—there—least said is soonest mended.”
“Fanny, you are older than me, and ever so much cleverer. Tell me, or you are not my friend.”
“Wait till you get home, then. Here he is.”
Vizard told them he had been through all the rooms; the only chance now was the dining-room. “No,” said Fanny, “we wish to get home; we are rather tired.”
They went to the rail, and at first Vizard was rather talkative, making his comments on the players; but the ladies were taciturn, and brought him to a stand. “Ah,” thought he, “nothing interests them now; Adonis is not here.” So he retired within himself.
When they reached the Russie, he ordered a petit souper in an hour, and invited the ladies. Meantime they retired—Miss Maitland to her room, and Fanny, with Zoe, to hers. By this time Miss Dover had lost her alacrity, and would, I verily believe, have shunned a te'te-'a-te'te if she could; but there was a slight paleness in Zoe's cheek, and a compression of the lips, which told her plainly that young lady meant to have it out with her. They both knew so well what was coming, that Zoe merely waved her to a chair and leaned herself against the bed, and said, “Now, Fanny.” So Fanny was brought to bay.
“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.”