Miss Maitland bridled at that. “What I have said is not out of dislike to the young man. I am warning a brother to take a little more care of his sister, that is all. However, after your sneer, I shall say no more behind Mr. Severne's back, but to his face—that is, if we ever see his face again, or Zoe's either.”
“Oh, aunt!” said Fanny, reproachfully. “It is only the rain. La! poor things, they will be wet to the skin. Just see how it is pouring!”
“That it is: and let me tell you there is nothing so dangerous as a te'te-'a-te'te in the rain.”
“A thunder-storm is worse, aunt,” said Fanny, eagerly; “because then she is frightened to death, and clings to him—if he is nice.”
Having galloped into this revelation, through speaking first and thinking afterward, Fanny pulled up short the moment the words were out, and turned red, and looked askant, under her pale lashes at Vizard. Observing several twinkles in his eyes, she got up hastily and said she really must go and dry her gown.
“Yes,” said Miss Maitland; “come into my room, dear.”
Fanny complied, with rather a rueful face, not doubting that the public “dear” was to get it rather hot in private.
Her uneasiness was not lessened when the old maid said to her, grimly, “Now, sit you down there, and never mind your dress.”
However, it came rather mildly, after all. “Fanny, you are not a bad girl, and you have shown you were sorry; so I am not going to be hard on you: only you must be a good girl now, and help me to undo the mischief, and then I will forgive you.”
“Aunt,” said Fanny, piteously, “I am older than she is, and I know I have done rather wrong, and I won't do it any more; but pray, pray, don't ask me to be unkind to her to-day; it is brooch-day.”