“I do not call that the park—I call that the avenue,” said Sara; but she saw that her companion spoke with intention, and a certain quickening of color came to her face.
“You may call it any thing you please, but I am sure it is the park,” said Fanny, “and I want to speak to you about it. I am sure I don’t know who Mr. Powys is—I dare say he is very nice—but do you think it is quite right walking about with him like that? You told me yourself he was in your papa’s office. You know Sara, dear, I wouldn’t say a word to you if it wasn’t for your good.”
“What is for my good?” said Sara—“walking in the park? or having you to speak to me? As for Mr. Powys, I don’t suppose you know any thing about him, so of course you can’t have any thing to say.”
“I wish you would not gallop on like that and take away one’s breath,” said Fanny. “Of course I don’t know any thing about him. He may be very nice—I am sure I can’t say; or he may be very amusing—they often are,” Fanny added, with a sigh, “when they are no good. But don’t go walking and talking with him, Sara; don’t, there’s a dear; people will talk; you know how they talk. And if he is only in your papa’s office—”
“I don’t see what difference that can possibly make,” said Sara with a little vehemence.
“But it does make a difference,” said Fanny, once more with a sigh. “If he were ever so nice, it could be no good. Mr. Brownlow may be very kind to him, but he would never let you marry him, Sara. Yes, of course, that is what it must come to. A girl should not stray about in the park with a man unless he was a man that she could marry if he asked her. I don’t mean to say that she would marry, but at least that she could. And, besides, a girl owes a duty to herself even if her father would consent. You, in your position, ought to make a very different match.”
“You little worldly-minded wretch,” cried Sara, “have you nearly done?”
“Any body would tell you so as well as me,” said Fanny. “You might have had that big Sir Charles if you had liked. Papa is only a poor clergyman, and we have not the place in society we might have; but you can go everywhere, you who are so rich. And then the gentlemen always like you. If you were to make a poor marriage it would be a shame.”
“When did you learn all that?” said Fanny’s hearer, aghast. “I never thought you were half so wise.”
“I always knew it, dear,” said little Fanny, with complacency. “I used to be too frightened to speak, and then you always talked so much quicker and went on so. But when I was at my aunt’s in spring—”