"Don't you? Don't you know that a woman sometimes likes a man for what he doesn't say?"
"I never thought of it in that way. I daresay you're right. You ought to know much better than I do. Especially if you really like me, as you say you do."
"Oh—I'm honest. I never said I'd been in the navy!" Fanny laughed. "Besides, if I didn't like you, why should I say so? Just to say something civil? The way Mr. Brinsley does?"
"Brinsley's a horror! Don't talk about him—especially here."
"I don't mean to. I hate him. But if we were going to talk about him, this would be a good place—one's sure that he's not just round the corner of the verandah making one of my three cousins miserable."
"How do you mean?"
"Why—they all love him. Can't you see it? I don't mean figuratively. Not a bit. They're in love with him, poor dears!"
"Nonsense! not really?" Lawrence laughed incredulously.
"Yes—really. It's a rather dismal sort of love—they've kept their hearts in pickle for such an age, you know—old pickles aren't good, either. I've no patience with old maids who fall in love and make fools of themselves!"
"Perhaps they can't help it," suggested the young man. "Nobody can help falling in love, you know."