“Yes—yes, I know,” burst in Alfred; “she treated me like a porcupine this morning—or ant-eater, which is it, Fanny—the thing with quills, you know?”
Miss Fanny Newt patted the floor with her foot. Alfred continued:
“Yes, and Hope sent down, and she wanted to see me alone some time to-day.”
Fanny’s foot stopped.
“Alfred, dear,” said she, “you are a good fellow, but you are too amiable. You must do just as I want you to, dearest, or something awful will happen.”
“Pooh! Fanny; nothing shall happen. I love you like any thing.”
Smack! smack!
“Well, then, listen, Alfred! Your mother doesn’t like me. She would do any thing to prevent your marrying me. The reasons I will tell you at another time. If you go home and talk with her and Hope Wayne, you can not help betraying that you are engaged to me; and—you know your mother, Alfred—she would openly oppose the marriage, and I don’t know what she might not say to my father.”
Fanny spoke clearly and rapidly, but calmly. Alfred looked utterly bewildered.
“It’s a great pity, isn’t it?” said he, feebly. “What do you think we had better do?”