"Oh, stop," said Fanny, "stop, stop--oh, this is too bad! I never thought _you_ would do it. I thought I had one f-f-friend." "_Don't_ cry; Fanny, listen to me." "I can't help it, it's too awful." "Fanny!" "Yes, Charles?" "Dry your eyes, and tell me this; am I so very dreadful? Don't you think if you tried you could care for me? I know I'm not clever and all that--look up." He took her hand, and she let him hold it. Then she spoke these hope-destroying words: "If I h--hadn't met _him_, I believe I--I--I'd have married you--if you'd asked me." "Oh, my God!--it's all up then," said Bevan. "We're both so poor," said Fanny, "that you needn't envy us, dear Cousin Charles; all we've got in the world is our love for each other." "He's a painter, is he not?" "Yes," said Fanny, peeping up; "but how did you know?" "Miss Morgan, that American girl, told me something about him." Mr Bevan stood silent for a moment, and then went on: "Look here, Fanny, just think this matter over and tell me your mind. I'll put my case before you. You like me, I think?" "Yes, I _do_." "Well, I am not so very old, and I am rich; between one thing and another I have about eight thousand a year. We might be very happy together--don't interrupt me, I am just stating my case--money means a lot in this world; it's not everything, I admit--there are some men richer than I, that I would be sorry to see any girl married to. Well, on the other hand, there is this other man; he may be awfully jolly, and all that sort of thing, but he's poor--very poor, from what I can gather. Before you kick me over, think of the future--think well." "Do you know," said Fanny, "that if you had come yesterday, and had asked me to marry you, I believe I would have said 'yes,' and then we would have been always miserable. I would have married you for your money; not for myself, but to help father. But you see now that he is going to be married to Miss Pursehouse _she'll_ take care of him." "He is not married to her yet," said Charles, thinking of Lulu Morgan's words, and cursing himself for having let days slip by, for he could have called yesterday, or the day before, but for indecision--that most fatal of all elements in human affairs. "No, but he will marry her, for when father makes up his mind to do a thing he always does it." "So then," he said, "you have made up your mind irrevocably not to have anything to do with me?" "I must, I must--Oh dear, I wish I were _dead_. I will always be your friend--I will always be a sister to you." "Don't--don't say anything more about it, please. You can't help yourself--it's fate." "You're not angry with me?" "No--let us talk of other things. How are you getting on, has that man been giving any more trouble?"