“Look here, Selina,” and Fanny rose, and wiped her eyes, and somewhat composed her ruffled hair, which she shook back from her face and forehead, as she endeavoured to repress the palpitation which had followed her tears; “I have looked forward, and I have determined what I mean to do. It was your father who brought me to this, by forcing me into a childish quarrel with the man I love. I have implored him, almost on my knees, to invite Lord Ballindine again to Grey Abbey: he has refused to do so, at any rate for twelve months—” “And has he consented to ask him at the end of twelve months?” asked Selina, much astonished, and, to tell the truth, considerably shocked at this instance of what she considered her father’s weakness. “He might as well have said twelve years,” replied Fanny. “How can I, how can any one, suppose that he should remain single for my sake for twelve months, after being repelled without a cause, or without a word of explanation; without even seeing me;—turned out of the house, and insulted in every way? No; whatever he might do, I will not wait twelve months. I’ll ask Lord Cashel once again, and then—” Fanny paused for a moment, to consider in what words she would finish her declaration. “Well, Fanny,” said Selina, waiting with eager expectation for Fanny’s final declaration; for she expected to hear her say that she would drown herself, or lock herself up for ever, or do something equally absurd. “Then,” continued Fanny,—and a deep blush covered her face as she spoke, “I will write to Lord Ballindine, and tell him that I am still his own if he chooses to take me.” “Oh, Fanny! do not say such a horrid thing. Write to a man, and beg him to accept you? No, Fanny; I know you too well, at any rate, to believe that you’ll do that.” “Indeed, indeed, I will.” “Then you’ll disgrace yourself for ever. Oh, Fanny! though my heart were breaking, though I knew I were dying for very love, I’d sooner have it break, I’d sooner die at once, than disgrace my sex by becoming a suppliant to a man.”