"On the contrary, it has greatly improved me, my dearest."
And Ralph sat down on the trellised portico, stretching out his elegant rosetted shoes, and laughing.
"I am not your dearest," said Fanny; "that is not my name."
"You are mistaken! But come, sit by me: I'm just in the mood to talk."
"No," said Fanny, shaking her head coquettishly, "I'll stand while your lordship discourses."
And with these words, the young man grasped Miss Fanny's long streaming hair-ribbon, and gently drew it toward him, laughing.
Fanny cried out. Ralph laughed more than ever.
There was but one alternative left for the young girl. She must either see her elegantly bound up raven locks deprived of their confining ribbon, and so fall in wild disorder, or she must obey the command of the enemy, and sit quietly beside him. True, there was the third course of becoming angry, and raising her head with dignified hauteur. But this course had its objections--it would not do to quarrel with her cousin and former playmate immediately upon his return; and again the movement of the head, which we have indicated, would have been attended by consequences exceedingly disastrous.
Therefore, as Ralph continued to draw toward him gently the scarlet ribbon, with many smiles and admiring glances, Miss Fanny gradually approached the seat, and finally sat down.
"There, sir!" she said, pouting, "I hope you are satisfied!"
"Perfectly; the fact is, my sweet Fanny, I never was anything else _but_ satisfied with _you_! I always was fascinated with you."
"That's one of the things which you were taught at college, I suppose."
"No, they didn't teach that, by Jove! Nothing but wretched Latin, Greek and Mathematics--things, evidently, of far less importance than the art you mention."
"And the reason is plain. A gentleman never uses the one after he leaves college, and lays them by with the crabbed books that teach them; while the art of compliment is always useful and agreeable--especially agreeable to young ladies of your exceedingly juvenile age--is't not?"
"I know it is; and when a woman descends to it, and flatters a man--ah! my dear Fanny, there's no hope for him. I am a melancholy instance."
"You!" laughed Fanny, who had regained her good-humor.