"I was thinking of Fanny Lambert," said Miss Morgan in a dreamy voice. "The girl I told you of yesterday——"
Now, Mr Bevan was the last man in the world—as I daresay you perceive—to discuss his feelings with any one. But Miss Morgan had a patent method of her own for extracting confidences, of making people talk out, as she would have expressed it herself.
"I said to you yesterday that I had never met Miss Lambert: I had reasons connected with some law business for saying so—as a matter of fact, I have met her—once."
"Oh, that's quite enough. If you've met Fanny Lambert once, you have met her for ever. Does she like you?—I don't ask you do you like her, for, of course, you do."
"I think—she does."
"You mustn't think—women hate men that think, they like them to be sure. If a man was only bold enough he could marry any woman on earth."
"Is that your opinion?"
"'Tis, and my opinion is worth having. What a woman wants most is some one to make up her mind for her. Go and make Fanny's mind up for her; you and she are just suited."
"In what way?"