But
he went at last, constrained by his friend, and a very dull evening he
passed. Lizzie was quite unlike her usual self, was silent, grave, and
solemnly courteous; Miss Macnulty had not a word to say for herself; and
even Frank was dull. Arthur Herriot had not tried to exert himself, and
the dinner had been a failure.
"You don't think much of my cousin, I dare say," said Frank, as they were
driving back.
"She is a very pretty woman."
"And I should say that she does not think much of you."
"Probably not."
"Why on earth wouldn't you speak to her? I went on making speeches to Miss
Macnulty on purpose to give you a chance. Lizzie generally talks about as
well--as any young woman I know; but you had not a word to say to her, nor
she to you."
"Because you devoted yourself to Miss Mac---- whatever her name is."
"That's nonsense," said Frank; "Lizzie and I are more like brother and
sister than anything else. She has no one else belonging to her, and she
has to come to me for advice, and all that sort of thing. I wanted you to
like her."
"I never like people and people never like me. There is an old saying that
you should know a man seven years before you poke his fire.
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