“Thank you,” he said at last. “Finetta—Fin—may I call you Fin?—dearest Fin, say I may.”
“No, no, no,” jerked out Fin, hysterically—“you mustn’t do anything of the kind. Pa wouldn’t approve, and Aunt Matty hates you, and—and—and I’m nearly sure I do.”
“Go on hating me like this, then,” cried Pratt, rapturously. “Oh, darling, you’ve made me so happy!”
“I haven’t,” protested Fin, “and I can’t, and I won’t. How can I, when poor darling Tiny has been so treated by that odious wretch?”
“What—Vanleigh?”
“No, you know what I mean; but he’s an odious wretch, too. It’s abominable. Mr Trevor ought to be hung.”
“Why?” said Pratt.
“Why?” echoed Fin. “Hasn’t he jilted my poor darling, and behaved cruelly to her, after winning her heart, just as all men do?”
“No,” said Pratt, stoutly.
“What!” cried Fin, “didn’t I see him out with her himself, and hasn’t somebody been at our house dropping hints about it—unwillingly, of course—and made pa delighted, and Aunt Matty malicious? while poor mamma has done nothing but cry, because she liked and believed in your nice friend. As to poor Tiny, she was dangerously ill for a time.”