The last three words were added in a different tone, for Polly had checked herself there with a half-frightened look and turned away to hide her face behind her hair again.
“Then if it's not him, it's some one else. You've got a secret, Polly, and I should think you might tell it, as you know mine,” said Fanny, unable to rest till everything was told, for Polly's manner troubled her.
There was no answer to her question, but she was satisfied and putting her arm round her friend, she said, in her most persuasive tone, “My precious Polly, do I know him?”
“You have seen him.”
“And is he very wise, good, and splendid, dear?”
“No.”
“He ought to be if you love him. I hope he is n't bad?” cried Fan, anxiously, still holding Polly, who kept her head obstinately turned.
“I'm suited, that's enough.”
“Oh, please just tell me one thing more. Don't he love back again?”
“No. Now don't say another word, I can't bear it!” and Polly drew herself away, as she spoke in a desperate sort of tone.