"Not in the least, mamma; I am only telling you that I cannot marry Pierre."
"You must be ill," pursued Fanny. "You have fever. Don't deny it." And anxiously she took the girl's hands. But Eva's hands were cooler than her own.
"I don't think I have any fever," replied Eva. She had been taught to answer all her mother's questions in fullest detail. "I sleep and eat as usual; I have no headache."
Fanny still looked at her anxiously. "Then if you are not ill, what can be the matter with you?"
"I have only told you, mamma, that I could not marry Pierre; it seems to me very simple."
She was so quiet that Fanny began at last to realize that she was in earnest. "My dearest, you know you like Pierre. You have told me so yourself."
"I don't like him now."
"What has he done—poor Pierre? He will explain, apologize; you may be sure of that."
"He has done nothing; I don't want him to apologize. He is as he always is. It is I who have changed."
"Oh, it is you who have changed," repeated Fanny, bewildered.