king to; it is not at all necessary for you to compliment me; nobody
ever does--so you may feel relieved of that trouble."

"Nobody ever does, Miss Fanny; pray, how is that?"

"Because I'm not the sort of person to say such things to."

"And pray, what sort of person ought one to be, in order to have such
things said?" replied Mr. Somers.

"Why, like Sister Isabella, or like Emma. You understand I am a sort of
little nobody; if any one wastes fine words on me, I never know what to
make of them."

"And pray, what must one say to you?" said Mr. Somers, quite amused.

"Why, what they really think and really feel; and I am always puzzled by
any thing else."

Accordingly, about a half an hour afterwards, you might have seen the
much admired Mr. Somers once more transformed into the Cousin George,
and he and Fanny engaged in a very interesting _tete-a-tete_ about old
times and things.

Now, you may skip across a fortnight from this evening, and then look in
at the same old library, just as the setting sun is looking in at its
western window, and you will see Fanny sitting back a little in the
shadow, with one straggling ray of light illuminating her pure childish
face, and she is looking up at Mr. George Somers, as if in some sudden
perplexity; and, dear me, if we are not mistaken, our young gentleman is
blushing.

"Why, Cousin George," says the lady, "what _do_ you mean?"

"I thought I spoke plainly enough, Fanny," replied Cousin George, in a
tone that _might_ have made the matter plain enough, to be sure.

Fanny laughed outright, and the gentleman looked terribly serious.

"Indeed, now, don't be angry," said she, as he turned away with a vexed
and mortified air; "indeed, now, I can't help laughing, it seems to me
so odd; what _will_ they all think of you?"

"It's of no consequence to me what they think," said Mr. Somers. "I
think, Fanny, if you had the heart I gave you credit for, you might have
seen my feelings before now."

"Now, do sit down, my _dear_ cousin," said Fanny, earnestly, drawing him
into a chair, "and tell me, how could I, poor little Miss Fanny Nobody,
how _could_ I have thought any such thing with such sisters as I have? I
did think that you _liked_ me, that you knew more of my real feelings
than mamma and sisters; but that you should--that you ever should--why,
I am astonished that you did not fall in love with Isabella."

"That would have met your feelings, then?" said George, eagerly, an