Fanny said she would try and manage that for him; and as the rest of their talk might not interest the reader, and certainly would not edify him, I pass on to the fact that she did, that very afternoon, go into Zoe's room, and tell her Severne was very unhappy: he had told a fib; but it was not intended to deceive her, and he wished to explain the whole thing. “Did he explain it to you?” asked Zoe, rather sharply. “No; but he said enough to make me think you are using him very hardly. To be sure, you have another string to your bow.” “Oh, that is the interpretation you put.” “It is the true one. Do you think you can make _me_ believe you would have shied him so long if Lord Uxmoor had not been in the house?” Zoe bridled, but made no reply, and Fanny went to her own room, laughing. Zoe was much disturbed. She secretly longed to hear Severne justify himself. She could not forgive a lie, nor esteem a liar. She was one of those who could pardon certain things in a woman she would not forgive in a man. Under a calm exterior, she had suffered a noble distress; but her pride would not let her show it. Yet now that he had appealed to her for a hearing, and Fanny knew he had appealed, she began to falter. Still Fanny was not altogether wrong: the presence of a man incapable of a falsehood, and that man devoted to her, was a little damaging to Severne, though not so much as Miss Artful thought. However, this very afternoon Lord Uxmoor had told her he must leave Vizard Court to-morrow morning. So Zoe said to herself, “I need not make opportunities; after to-morrow he will find plenty.” She had an instinctive fear he would tell more falsehoods to cover those he had told; and then she should despise him, and they would both be miserable; for she felt for a moment a horrible dread that she might both love and despise the same person, if it was Edward Severne. There were several people to dinner, and, as hostess, she managed not to think too much of either of her admirers. However, a stolen glance showed her they were both out of spirits. She felt sorry. Her nature was very pitiful. She asked herself was it her fault, and did not quite acquit herself. Perhaps she ought to have been more open and declared her sentiments. Yet would that have been modest in a lady who was not formally engaged? She was puzzled. She had no experience to guide her: only her high breeding and her virginal instincts. She was glad when the night ended. She caught herself wishing the next day was gone too. When she retired Uxmoor was already gone, and Severne opened the door to her. He fixed his eyes on her so imploringly, it made her heart melt; but she only blushed high, and went away sad and silent. As her maid was undressing her she caught sight of a letter on her table. “What is that?” said she. “It is a letter,” said Rosa, very demurely. Zoe divined that the girl had been asked to put it there.