“I don’t mean to get rid of you,” he retorted crustily. “I mean to break up these polar follies and to keep Faunce here.”
She smiled faintly, a little flush on her face. Then she glanced out of the window again.
“There’s Fanny Price. I’ll go and let her in. She has tramped over through the snow.”
“Don’t bring her in here, then!” snapped the judge sharply. “My back hurts like the devil. I want to finish my meal in peace.”
Diane reassured him and stepped out of the room, thankful enough to be released. She began to see vaguely, and with some little alarm, that her father had been quietly bending her to his will; that he had purposely thrown Faunce in her way; that he was, in fact, making the match. The thought of it, in this light, was so distasteful that she was glad to go to the door to let in her visitor.
Fanny, muffled in furs and submerged under a big hat, was not as visible to the eyes as usual. She seemed to evade observation by withdrawing into the recesses of fur and felt; but she pounced upon Diane with a swift, birdlike motion, and kissed her.
“I came right over,” she said in a rather high-pitched, nervous tone, “to wish you joy, dear!”
Diane looked amazed.
“How in the world did you know?”
Fanny laughed softly.