“Pray, no empty flatteries,” said Fanny, impatiently. “Oh, tell me the truth! I am sure you do not love me!”
“I saw you too late,” he said, mournfully; “if I had known you sooner, I should have loved you passionately.”
“But now I am too late—and have you already loved another?” she asked, hastily.
“Yes, I love another,” he said, gravely and solemnly. “As you ask me, I ought to tell you the truth. I love another.”
“Nevertheless, you want to marry me?” she exclaimed, angrily.
“And you?” he asked, gently. “Do you love me?”
“But I told you already my heart is free. I love no one, while you—why don’t you marry her whom you love?”
“Because I cannot marry her.”
“Why cannot you marry her?”
“Because my father is opposed to it. He is the chief of our house and family. He commands, and we obey. He is opposed to it because the young lady whom I love is poor. She would not increase the capital of our firm.”