A girl of the early twenties, perfect in health and in trim neatness, never lacks a certain attractiveness; but Phebe went beyond that. At a first glance, her features might be condemned as irregular, her eyes as too piercing, her lips and chin as too firm. The next moment, all that was forgotten. Phebe was rarely silent for more than one moment at a time. As soon as she spoke, her face lighted and became whimsical, piquant, merry, or fiery as suited her mood; and Phebe's friends were never agreed as to which of her moods was most becoming. Pretty she was not, beautiful she was not; but she was undeniably interesting, and at times brilliantly handsome.
She looked up, as Theodora came into the room.
"How do? Sit down," she said briefly.
"I came over to see if I couldn't help you with your unpacking," Theodora said, as she paused beside the trunk.
"Thank you, no. I can do it."
"But it is such a trial. I love to pack; but unpacking is always rather an anti-climax."
"I don't mind it," Phebe said calmly, while she sorted stockings industriously.
"Let me do that," Theodora urged.
"No; it might be a trial to you, and I really don't mind. Sit down and look at my photographs. They are in the third box from the top of the pile in the corner."
"Methodical as ever, Phebe?"