"Fanny!"
"Yes, Charles?"
"Dry your eyes, and tell me this; am I so very dreadful? Don't you think if you tried you could care for me? I know I'm not clever and all that—look up." He took her hand, and she let him hold it.
Then she spoke these hope-destroying words:
"If I h—hadn't met him, I believe I—I—I'd have married you—if you'd asked me."
"Oh, my God!—it's all up then," said Bevan.
"We're both so poor," said Fanny, "that you needn't envy us, dear Cousin Charles; all we've got in the world is our love for each other."
"He's a painter, is he not?"
"Yes," said Fanny, peeping up; "but how did you know?"
"Miss Morgan, that American girl, told me something about him." Mr Bevan stood silent for a moment, and then went on: "Look here, Fanny, just think this matter over and tell me your mind. I'll put my case before you. You like me, I think?"