“You could have told him the truth,” said Aimée. “I am sure he ought to have been satisfied to hear that you sent Mr. Kyrle away.” Fanny shook her head. “You don’t know men,” she said. “And I did not know Mr. Meredith before this morning. He was so angry, that I saw at once he would never forgive me if he knew the truth; so there was nothing to do but deny the whole thing. I suppose it was cowardly; but I _am_ a coward. There is no doubt of that.” Aimée agreed that there could be no doubt of it; but the frankly admitted fact did not make her own position better. As far as she could understand, Fanny had boldly transferred the whole matter--intended elopement, broken promise, midnight tryst--to her shoulders, and asked her to acknowledge it. She could hardly realize all that was demanded of her. “Do you mean to say,” she asked, “that you told Mr. Meredith that _I_ had promised to go away with Mr. Kyrle?” “What else could I tell him?” replied Fanny, desperately. “O Aimée, don’t you see: what is the good of what was done last night, if I acknowledge it this morning? I should lose Mr. Meredith just as much as if I had gone with Lennox. So I thought I might trust you. I thought you would help me. It is only to say it was you last night; the rest will be understood.” “The rest--that is, the falsehood!” cried Aimée, indignantly. “O Fanny, how can you ask it--how _can_ you? I did not mind what I did last night, though it was hard enough. I would do that, or anything else of the kind, over again. But this I can not, I will not, do!” “Then,” said Fanny, sitting down with a gesture of despair, “there is simply no hope, and I wish I had gone with Lennox. It is useless for me to face Mr. Meredith again. If I told him that you refused to come, he would never believe that it was not me last night. Well,” with a long-drawn sigh, “I suppose it serves me right. But I am sorry for poor mamma.” Sobs followed, while Aimée sat staring at the wall before her. Fanny’s grief did not touch her as much as it should have done, perhaps, for she understood exactly the degree and quality of the regard which that young lady entertained for Mr. Meredith, and she did not yet realize that disappointment over the loss of possible diamonds might be as acute as that over the loss of a lover. But the allusion to Mrs. Berrien had more effect. Aimée knew that her aunt’s heart was set upon Fanny’s marrying Mr. Meredith, and for her aunt Aimée felt that she was bound to do much--for was she not the only person in the world who had ever given a thought to her sad girlhood, or attempted to throw a little sunshine upon it? There was not much in common between Mrs. Berrien and her niece; but on the side of the latter there was a deep sense of gratitude. “Should I hesitate to do _anything_ for Aunt Alice, who has done so much for me?” she asked herself. It was this she was thinking while Fanny sobbed. Presently she said abruptly, “Is Mr. Meredith downstairs yet?”