"Phœbe, the second Sunday in June I am going to baptize a number of converts in the Chicques near your home. Are you ready to come with the rest, and give up the vanities of the world?"
"Oh, Phares, why do you ask me? I can't wear plain clothes while I love pretty ones. I can't be a hypocrite."
"But surely, Phœbe, you see that a simple life is more conducive to happiness than a complex, artificial life can possibly be. It is my duty to strive for the saving of souls and we have been friends so long that I take a special interest in you and desire to see you safe in the shelter of the Church."
"Phares, I'll tell you frankly, if I ever wear plain garb it will be because I feel that it is the right thing for me to do, not because some person persuades me to."
"Of course, that is the only way to come. But can't you come now?"
"I can't. I hurt you when I say that, but I want you to be my good friend, as always, in spite of my worldliness. Will you, Phares?"
He opened his lips to speak, but she went on quickly: "Because I am learning every day how much I need the help and friendship of all my friends."
He longed to throw down the reins he was holding and tell her what was in his heart, but something in her manner, her peculiar stress on the word "friendship" restrained him. She was, after all, only a child. Only eighteen—too young to think of marriage. He could wait a while longer before he told her of his love and his desire to marry her.
"I will, Phœbe," he promised. "I'll be your friend, always."
"I thought so," she breathed deeply in relief. "I knew you wouldn't fail me. Look at that field, Phares—oh, this is a perfect day! There should be a superlative form of perfect for a day like this! Those fields have as many colors as the shades reflected on a copper plate: lilac, tan, purple, rose, green and brown."