“No, I shall not. You can make love to me. I am tired of never being made love to.”
“Well,” said this ingenuous youth, “you certainly do not get your deserts in this house. Even I am so blinded by my passion for Zoe, that I forget she does not monopolize all the beauty and grace and wit in the house.”
“Go on,” said Fanny. “I can bear a good deal of it—after such a fast.”
“I have no doubt you can bear a good deal. You are one of those that inspire feelings, but don't share them. Give me a chance; let me sing you a song.”
“A love song?”
“Of course.”
“Can you sing it as well as you can talk it?”
“With a little encouragement. If you would kindly stand at the end of the piano, and let me see your beautiful eyes fixed on me.”
“With disdain?”
“No, no.”