Half an hour had actually passed before Susy seemed to awaken to the realities of life. She jumped up from the sofa with an exclamation of surprise, and then glanced down at Fanny with an inquiring look on her face—a puzzled look that gave the seal to Fanny's happiness.
“You are wondering how I come to be here, Susy,” said she smiling. “You are wondering how I come to be mixed up with the Branghtons and the Mervains and the rest of them. You would make me out to be an enchantress carrying you into the midst of a strange society; and I don't want any more delightful compliments, dear.”
“Oh, Fanny, 'tis so wonderful—so——”
“I don't want to hear anything about it beyond what you have already told me, my dear Susy. I watched your face and it told me all. Give me a kiss, Susy. You have given me a sensation of pleasure such as I never knew before, and such as, I fear, I shall never know again.”
In an instant the two girls were in each other's arms, mingling their tears and then their laughter, but exchanging no word until they had exhausted every other means of expressing what they felt.
It was Susy who spoke first.
“Take it away, Fanny,” she said. “Take the book away, for I know that if I read any more of it I shall betray your secret to all the house. They will read it on my face every time I look at you.”
“I think that the hour has come for me to relieve you of the precious book,” said Fanny. “There is the letter from Mr. Lowndes asking me to make out the list of errata as quickly as possible, and I do believe that I shall have to read the book before I can oblige him.”
“'Twas thoughtless for me to jump into the middle as I did, when you had to read it,” cried Susy. “But there is really no mistake on any page, so far as I could see.”
“Unless the whole is a mistake,” said Fanny. “But I will not suggest that now, having seen your face while you were devouring it. Dear Susy, if I find many such readers I shall be happy.”