"Please don't include yourself," said Lawrence, his delicate face betraying that he winced.
"I will include myself, because it's true," answered Fanny, very much in earnest. "I shouldn't put it just in that way about myself, perhaps,--but I took a fancy to him, and I took him to drive, and I found that he could drive quite as well as I, and we went out riding with a party, and he rides like an angel--he really does--it's divine. And then I tried him in the boat, and he was good at that. So I began to like him very much."
"They're all excellent reasons for liking a man," observed Lawrence, with a little contempt.
"Don't scoff at things you can't do yourself," said Fanny, severely. "It's not in good taste. Besides, I don't care. All women admire men who are stronger, and quicker, and better with their hands than other men. One always thinks they must be braver, too."
"Yes, that's true," assented Lawrence, seeking to retrieve himself by meekness.
"And they generally are. It takes courage to ride well, and it needs nerve to handle a boat in a squall. I don't mean to say that you can't be brave if you don't know how to do those things. That would be nonsense. You--for instance--you could learn. Only nobody has ever taught you anything, and you're getting old."
Lawrence laughed outright, and forgot his ill-humour in a moment.
"Oh--I don't mean really old," said Fanny, immediately. "I only mean that one ought to learn when one is a child, as I did. Then it's no trouble, you see--and one never forgets. Now, Mr. Brinsley began young--"
"Yes," interrupted the young man, "I should say so. I'm sorry I didn't."
"So am I. It would have been so nice to do things--"
She stopped abruptly, and pulled up a blade of rank grass, which she proceeded to twist thoughtfully round her finger.
"I shouldn't like you to think I was a flirt," she said, suddenly turning her grey eyes upon him.
He met her glance curiously, being considerably surprised by her remark.
"Because I sometimes think I am, myself," she added, still looking at him. "Do you think so?" she asked earnestly. "What is a flirt, anyway?"
"A woman who draws a man on for the pleasure of breaking his heart, I suppose," answered Lawrence, keeping his eyes fixed intently on hers.