"Do you remember the talk we once had after reading one of Miss Edgeworth's stories, about not letting one's lovers come to a declaration, if one didn't love them?"
"Yes."
"And you girls said it wasn't proper, and I said it was honest, any way. Well, I always meant to try it if I got a chance; and I have. Mind you, I don't say Mr. Sydney loved me, for he never said so, and never will, now; but I did fancy he rather liked me, and might do more if I didn't show him that it was of no use."
"And you did?" cried Fanny, much excited.
"I just gave him a hint, and he took it. He meant to go away before that, so don't think his heart is broken, or mind what silly tattlers say. I didn't like his meeting me so much, and told him so by going another way. He understood, and being a gentleman, made no fuss. I dare say he thought I was a vain goose, and laughed at me for my pains, like Churchill in 'Helen.'"
"No, he wouldn't; he'd like it, and respect you for doing it. But, Polly, it would have been a grand thing for you."
"I can't sell myself for an establishment."
"Mercy! what an idea!"
"Well, that's the plain English of half your fashionable matches. I'm 'odd,' you know, and prefer to be an independent spinster, and teach music all my days."
"Ah, but you won't. You were made for a nice, happy home of your own, and I hope you'll get it,
