the dreams hand in hand with Loftus she had been strolling. Now she must put them all away.
“Answer me,” Mrs. Price repeated.
“I am afraid so.”
Into a misty and deserted parlor of the Inn Mrs. Price pulled the girl and there let fire.
“Afraid! You ought to be! What will your father say?”
The father here projected was a gentleman who resided abroad and who seldom opened his mouth except to put something in it.
“And Fred!”
Fred was Fanny’s brother, a young chap whose opinions were of no value to anyone, himself included.
“And everybody!”
Everybody was the upper current of social life.
“And Sylvia!”
The earlier shots had not inflicted any visible damage, but this must have told.
“I shall have to write to her,” Fanny with unusual meekness replied.
“Yes, do. Do by all means. Tell her you have taken her leavings. And why? Merciful heavens, why? If you were as staid and stiff as she I could understand. But a girl like you, with your tastes, your extravagances, a girl with a national reputation for beauty, to go and accept twenty-five thousand a year is—is—sinful, that’s what it is. Your own father has that,