“I'm sure I don't know.”
“Nor care, I suppose, you hard-hearted thing.”
“Why, Fan, what do you mean?”
“I'm not blind, my dear, neither is Tom, and when a young gentleman cuts a call abruptly short, and races after a young lady, and is seen holding her hand at the quietest corner of the park, and then goes travelling all of a sudden, we know what it means if you don't.”
“Who got up that nice idea, I should like to know?” demanded Polly, as Fanny stopped for breath.
“Now don't be affected, Polly, but just tell me, like a dear, has n't he proposed?”
“No, he has n't.”
“Don't you think he means to?”
“I don't think he'll ever say a word to me.”
“Well, I am surprised!” And Fanny drew a long breath, as if a load was off her mind. Then she added in a changed tone: “But don't you love him, Polly?”