“Let him go to her,” said Zoe, wildly; “I will share no man's heart.”
“He will never go to her, unless—well, unless we tell him that she has broken the bank with his money.”
“If you think so badly of him, tell him, then, and let him go. Oh, I am wretched—I am wretched!” She lifted her hands in despair, and began to cry and sob bitterly.
Fanny was melted at her distress, and knelt to her, and cried with her.
Not being a girl of steady principle, she went round with the wind. “Dear Zoe,” said she, “it is deeper than I thought. La! if you love him, why torment yourself?”
“No,” said Zoe; “it is deceit and mystery that torment me. Oh, what shall I do! what shall I do!”
Fanny interpreted this vague exclamation of sorrow as asking advice, and said, “I dare not advise you; I can only tell you what I should do in your place. I should make up my mind at once whether I loved the man, or only liked him. If I only liked him, I would turn him up at once.”
“Turn him up! What is that?”
“Turn him off, then. If I loved him, I would not let any other woman have the least little bit of a chance to get him. For instance, I would not let him know this old sweetheart of his has won three thousand pounds at least, for I noted her winnings. Diamond cut diamond, my dear. He is concealing from you something or other about him and this Klosking; hide you this one little thing about the Klosking from him, till you get my gentleman safe to England.”
“And this is love! I call it warfare.”