"Oh—I don't mean really old," said Fanny, immediately. "I only mean that one ought to learn when one is a child, as I did. Then it's no trouble, you see—and one never forgets. Now, Mr. Brinsley began young—"
"Yes," interrupted the young man, "I should say so. I'm sorry I didn't."
"So am I. It would have been so nice to do things—"
She stopped abruptly, and pulled up a blade of rank grass, which she proceeded to twist thoughtfully round her finger.
"I shouldn't like you to think I was a flirt," she said, suddenly turning her grey eyes upon him.
He met her glance curiously, being considerably surprised by her remark.
"Because I sometimes think I am, myself," she added, still looking at him. "Do you think so?" she asked earnestly. "What is a flirt, anyway?"
"A woman who draws a man on for the pleasure of breaking his heart, I suppose," answered Lawrence, keeping his eyes fixed intently on hers.
"Then I'm only half a flirt," said Fanny, "because I only draw a man on, without meaning to break anybody's heart."
"Don't," said Lawrence. "It hurts, you know."