"I think your Mr Elliot must be a very fine fellow, Fanny, and I'm
beginning to be proud of knowing him."
"That's the only pride left to me." She broke down, and buried her face
in a sofa cushion. Millie was by her side in a moment, with her hand in
both hers.
"Dearest, clearest Fanny!"
"Idiotic Fanny!--Say anything you like--Nothing would be foolish
enough.--And I do detest shy men"--with a gasp between each sentence,
and a laugh at the end.
Mrs Ravenhill slipped out of the room.
"There! Now I have spoilt your mother's tea."
"She had finished. Fanny, tell me, are you going to marry him?"
"Oh, I suppose so,"--sighing. The next moment she had pushed Millie
aside, started up, and stared blankly at her friend. "Good gracious!"
"What is it?" cried Millie in alarm.
"I had forgotten! He has never asked me. Isn't that necessary?"
"Perhaps words aren't necessary?"
"Oh, they are--unfortunately--for now nothing will ever work him up to
say them. I'm not sure that he could have done it with a living at his
back, but now, not a word! Martyrdom, self-denial, all the discomforts
of life! Perhaps if I were to have small-pox, or to tumble into the
fire and be horribly scarred--otherwise!--Oh, Millie, when you fall in
love, avoid excellence. The inconvenience of it!"
Millie murmured something consolatory, but Fanny broke in with a quick
shake of the head.
"My dear, I know all you're feeling, wondering what I find in him to
like--attraction of opposites, isn't there such an expression? There
ought to be. I don't expect you to sympathise, I only ask one thing."
"Anything!" Millie kissed her.
"Don't call him worthy. That's what they'll all do, I know, those of
them who try to approve. `Fanny has chosen a very worthy man.' To hear
that, I really believe would make me hate him."
She had the promise. Satisfied on this point, she began to talk about
him, his simplicity, earnestness, unworldliness. "So unlike us all.
And now, what he has just done, though it has driven me distracted,
isn't it splendid? Tell me, do you know any other man who would be so
disinterested?"
Challenged, Millie flung a mental glance at Wareham, but finding it
impossible to set the two men side by side, signified her admiration,
thinking it unnecessary to allude to its qualifications. After Fanny
had glorified her idol for a little, she fell back upon the difficulty.
He would never, never propose. What was to be done? Somebody must
move.
"Somebody must," Millie acknowledged. "Can't he take a hint?"
"Never."
"Would you like mother to write?"
"And get her into a scrape with Milborough and all of them? No."
"She might ask him to luncheon--to breakfast?"
"He would arrive at eight. Besides--oh, no, no!"