“How good you are! I am so happy!”
“What on earth have I done?” was the perplexed, and pleased, and ridiculous reply.
“Mr. Dinks, how could I answer the question you asked without betraying—?”
“What?” inquired Alfred, earnestly.
“Without betraying what sort of man I love,” breathed Fanny, in the lowest possible tone, which could be also perfectly distinct, and with her head apparently upon the point of dropping after her words into his waistcoat.
“Well?” said Dinks.
“Well, I can not do that, but I will make a bargain with you. If you will say what sort of girl you would love, I will answer your question.”
Fanny dreaded to hear a description of Hope Wayne. But Alfred’s mind was resolved. The foolish youth answered with his heart in his mouth, and barely whispering,
“If you will look in your glass to-night, you will see.”
The next moment Fanny’s head had fallen into the waistcoat—Alfred Dinks’s arms were embracing her. He perceived the perfume from her abundant hair. He was frightened, and excited, and pleased.