"She won't, Tom! She is in an obstinate fit, I know. And though she is crying her eyes out—the spiteful cat!—she won't come. I know her. She just told me to go away. What shall I do?" she asked.
"Nothing, Fanny," I answered; "you can tell her what you like. Will you be so cruel to your lover, little Fanny?"
She looked up saucily.
"I don't know, Tom; I shall see when I have one"—and she laughed.
"What about Jack Harmer, then?"
"Well, you see," and she looked down, "he's very young." She wasn't more than seventeen herself, and looked younger. "And, besides, I don't care for anybody but Elsie and father and you, Tom."
"Very well, Fanny," said I; "give me a kiss from Elsie, and make her give it you back."
"I will, Tom," she said quite simply, and, kissing her, I rode off quietly across the flat to my solitary home.