Not liking to complain, she found it easiest to make no answer; and though he looked at her with his usual kindness, she believed he had soon ceased to think of her. He did not appear in spirits. They proceeded upstairs together, their rooms being on the same floor above.

“I come from Dr. Grant’s,” said Edmund presently. “You may guess my errand there, Fanny.” And he looked so conscious, that Fanny could think but of one errand, which turned her too sick for speech. “I wished to engage Miss Crawford for the two first dances,” was the explanation that followed, and brought Fanny to life again, enabling her to utter something like an inquiry as to the result.

“Yes,” he answered, “she is engaged to me; but” (with a smile that did not sit easy) “she says it is to be the last time that she ever will dance with me. She is not serious. I think, I hope, I am sure she is not serious; but I would rather not hear it. She never has danced with a clergyman, she says, and she never will.”

“On would think—dancing with a clergyman would not be the most appealing diversion to a vampire,” said Fanny musingly. “Indeed, that’s a bit of an unnatural notion, one might say.”

“What? Oh, Fanny, I pray you, stop with this nonsense already!” Edmund was indeed stunned to be reminded yet again of such a thing.

“What would it take to convince you?”

Edmund shook his head, sadly. “It has to be nerves, dear Fanny, That is it, indeed, you are thus nonsensical, why, with all the excitement of the evening to come, it is but natural—”

Fanny sighed and once again let the matter drop.

Edmund continued on the original topic. “For my own sake, I could wish there had been no ball just at—I mean not this very week, this very day; to-morrow I leave home.”

Fanny struggled for speech, and said, “I am very sorry that anything has occurred to distress you. Including my own—words. This ought to be a day of pleasure. My uncle meant it so.”

“Oh yes, yes! and it will be a day of pleasure. It will all end right. I am only vexed for a moment. In fact, it is not that I consider the ball as ill-timed. But, Fanny,” stopping her, by taking her hand, and speaking low and seriously, “you know what all this means. You see how it is; and could tell me, perhaps better than I could tell you, how and why I am vexed.”

You are in love with a charming undead fiend who wears well the latest fashion, Fanny wanted to say. Vexation is the least of your calamities.