“I suppose that Constance was only joking when she said that to me; but promise, Mary, that you will never speak to Mr. Starbrow about such a thing?”
“Why?”
“Promise, Mary—do promise,” pleaded the girl.
“But, Fan, I have already talked to him more than once on that same dreadful subject.”
“Oh, how could you do it, Mary! You had no right to speak to him of such a thing.”
“You must not blame me, Fan. He spoke to me first about it.”
“He did! I can hardly believe it. Was it right of him to speak of such a thing to you?”
“And not to you first, Fan? Poor Tom spoke to me because he was afraid to speak to you—afraid that you had no such feeling for him as he wished you to have. He wanted sympathy and advice, and so the poor fellow came to me.”
“And what did you say, Mary?”
“Of course I told him the simple truth about you. I said that you were cold and stern in disposition, very strong-minded and despotic; but that at some future time, if he would wait patiently, you might perhaps condescend to make him happy and take him just for the pleasure of possessing a man to tyrannise over.”