"
"I don't think I gave him any right to think he'd pleased me" Fanny
said slowly.
"Why not? Why shouldn't you, Fanny?"
Fanny did not reply at once, and when she did, her voice was almost
inaudible, but much more reproachful than plaintive. "I hardly think
I'd want any one to get the notion he'd pleased me just now. It
hardly seems time, yet--to me."
Isabel made no response, and for a time the only sound upon the dark
veranda was the creaking of the wicker rocking-chair in which Fanny
sat--a creaking which seemed to denote content and placidity on the
part of the chair's occupant, though at this juncture a series of
human shrieks could have been little more eloquent of emotional
disturbance. However, the creaking gave its hearer one great
advantage: it could be ignored.
"Have you given up smoking, George?" Isabel asked presently.
"No."
"I hoped perhaps you had, because you've not smoked since dinner. We
shan't mind if you care to."
"No, thanks."
There was silence again, except for the creaking of the rocking-chair;
then a low, clear whistle, singularly musical, was heard softly
rendering an old air from "Fra Diavolo.
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