“Let me talk to you a little,” he continued. “You are a kind listener. I have been pained by her manner this morning, and cannot get the better of it. I know her disposition to be as sweet and faultless as your own—”

Fanny choked.

“—but the influence of her former companions gives to her sometimes a tinge of wrong. She does not think evil, but she speaks it—”

Sucks it . . .

“—speaks it in playfulness; and though I know it to be playfulness, it grieves me to the soul.”

“The effect of—education,” said Fanny gently. And she thought of how a vampire might be first educated—

Edmund could not but agree to it. “Yes, that uncle and aunt! They have injured the finest mind. For, sometimes, Fanny, I own to you, it does appear more than manner: it appears as if the mind itself was tainted.”

Oh dear sweet Lord! How Fanny wanted to strike her head against a hard surface.

And yet, this had to be an appeal to her judgment, and therefore, after a moment’s consideration, said, “If you only want me as a listener, cousin, I will be as useful as I can; but I am not qualified for an adviser. Do not ask advice of me. I am not competent.”

“You are right, Fanny, to protest against such an office, but you need not be afraid. It is a subject on which I should never ask advice. I only want to talk to you.”

“One thing more. Excuse the liberty; but take care how you talk to me. Do not tell me anything now, which hereafter you may be sorry for. The time may come—”

The colour rushed into her cheeks as she spoke.

“Dearest Fanny!” cried Edmund, pressing her hand to his lips with almost as much warmth as if it had been Miss Crawford’s, “you are all considerate thought! But it is unnecessary here. The time will never come. No such time as you allude to will ever come. I begin to think it most improbable: the chances grow less and less; and even if it should, there will be nothing to be remembered by either you or me that we need be afraid of.”

I may be afraid, by that point, on behalf of things far worse, thought Fanny.

“I can never be ashamed of my own scruples,” Edmund went on. “If they are removed, it must be by changes that will only raise her character. You are the only being upon earth to whom I should say what I have said. But you have always known my opinion of her; you can bear me witness, Fanny, that I have never been blinded—”

Fanny held her breath with all force known to man.