The dreary meal ended, Mrs Ravenhill rose. “Millie and Fanny will take you up-stairs, Mr Elliot,” she said, “for I have to go out.” Up spoke Fanny.
“Mayn’t I come with you?”
“Oh, certainly,” said Mrs Ravenhill, provoked. Then, to her amazement, Mr Elliot’s voice was heard.
“There is something I should be glad of an opportunity of saying, if Lady Fanny could give me five minutes.”
And, “Certainly she will,” interposed Mrs Ravenhill again. “The drawing-room is at your service. Come, Millie.”
Fanny’s feet dragged all the way up-stairs. She marched into the drawing-room, and sat stiffly on a seat by the window; tried to say something jesting, and failed. All that she got out was—
“Well?”
“Forgive me if I speak of my own feelings. It is for the first and last time,” he said hurriedly.
A slight movement of her head.
“I—I am quite aware that they have no excuse, except in the law of our nature; one must love what is lovable, however wide the distance. Your kindness, your sweetness—”