question that she thought she could.
“Tell me, my dear,” said Bella, “what is the matter, and why you live like this.”
Lizzie presently began, by way of prelude, “You must have many lovers—” when Bella checked her with a little scream of astonishment.
“My dear, I haven’t one!”
“Not one?”
“Well! Perhaps one,” said Bella. “I am sure I don’t know. I had one, but what he may think about it at the present time I can’t say. Perhaps I have half a one (of course I don’t count that Idiot, George Sampson). However, never mind me. I want to hear about you.”
“There is a certain man,” said Lizzie, “a passionate and angry man, who says he loves me, and who I must believe does love me. He is the friend of my brother. I shrank from him within myself when my brother first brought him to me; but the last time I saw him he terrified me more than I can say.” There she stopped.