“No, I don't; I am barely civil. And don't be ill-natured. What can I do?”
“Why, be content with one at a time.”
“It is very rude to talk so. Besides, I haven't got one, much less two. I begin to doubt him; and, Lord Uxmoor! you know I cannot possibly care for him—an acquaintance of yesterday.”
“But you know all about him—that he is an excellent parti,” said Fanny, with a provoking sneer.
This was not to be borne.
“Oh!” said Zoe, “I see; you want him for yourself. It is you that are not content with one. You forget how poor Harrington would miss your attentions. He would begin to appreciate them—when he had lost them.”
This stung, and Fanny turned white and red by turns. “I deserve this,” said she, “for wasting advice on a coquette.”
“That is not true. I'm no coquette; and here I am, asking your advice, and you only snub me. You are a jealous, cross, unreasonable thing.”
“Well, I'm not a hypocrite.”
“I never was called so before,” said Zoe, nobly and gently.