"I tell you I'm engaged," she repeated, in a muffled voice.
"Don't marry him!" cried Diana, imploringly. "He's not--he's not a good
man."
"What do you know about it? He's well enough, though I dare say he's not
your sort. He'd be all right if somebody would just lend a hand--help
him with the debts, and put him on his feet again. He suits me, anyway.
I'm not so thin-skinned."
Diana stiffened. Fanny's manner--as of old--was almost incredible,
considered as the manner of one in difficulties asking for help. The
sneering insolence of it inevitably provoked the person addressed.
"Have you told Aunt Bertha?" she said, coldly--"asked her consent?"
"Mother? Oh, I've told her I'm engaged. She knows very well that I
manage my own business."
Diana withdrew her chair a little.
"When are you going to be married? Are you still with those friends?"
Fanny laughed.
"Oh, Lord, no! I fell out with them long ago. They were a wretched lot!
But I found a girl I knew, and we set up together. I've been in a
blouse-shop earning thirty shillings a week--there! And if I hadn't, I'd
have starved!"
Fanny raised her head. Their eyes met: Fanny's full of mingled bravado
and misery; Diana's suddenly stricken with deep and remorseful distress.
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