“I think that was magnificent!” she said in a low voice with a tremor of emotion.
VI
The girl’s words had a strange effect on Faunce. They seemed to strike like a goad into his flesh. He sprang to his feet and began to pace the room with his head down. Fanny Price followed him with an astonished gaze, but she was too much concerned with her own emotion, her own folly in caring at all, to attempt to analyze his moods. It was enough for her that he loved Diane. She did not want to go beyond that, for it utterly crushed her hopes.
“Nothing I’ve ever done is magnificent!” he declared in a choked voice. “I’m not such a bounder as to let you think it. I would have tried as hard as Overton, I know I should, if I hadn’t been sure that she—she loved him!”
Fanny struggled with the last remnant of her self-love. Then she answered in a weak voice:
“Why does it matter to you so much if she did—then?”
He stopped short.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that he’s dead now.”
There was a profound pause. He stood staring at her with a strange expression, his hands hanging clenched at his sides. Fanny had never seen him look so handsome, so tragically inspired; but she returned his gaze with a kind of defiance. She felt that she was at bay, and mast defend herself.