But this frivolous speech never even entered Zoe's ear. 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.”