"It's for Miss Neville, cousin."
"For Miss Neville is it? I suspected as much. Give it to me; let me look at it."
"No, it will fall to pieces. He said so; and that I was to be very careful of it; so you musn't have it."
"Who gave it you? Speak, child; I will know."
But little Fanny inherited the Linchmore's spirit, and was nothing daunted at the other's stern, overbearing manner. In fact her little heart rose to fever heat; so tossing back her long, thick hair with one hand, while with the other she put the flower behind her, and looking her tall cousin steadily in the face, she replied defiantly—
"I shan't tell you."
"How dare you say that, how dare you speak to me in that rude way; I will know who gave it to you. Tell me directly."
"No I won't, cousin."
Frances raised her hand to strike, but Fanny quailed not; she still held the flower behind her back, away from the other, and made her small figure as tall as she could, planting her little foot firmly so as to resist the blow to her utmost when it did come.
But it came not. The hand fell, but not on Fanny.