They had all brought modest birthday presents for Phœbe, which they handed to her at once, with flowers and kisses and the best of affectionate wishes. Bob was in the seventh heaven in consequence of being allowed a share in the kissing business.
"I did not have time to write to you last night," whispered Fanny to Phœbe. "He has come home, and had tea with us. He is looking so well! brown, and handsomer than ever. What a perfectly lovely day!"
They walked to Parksides, expressing pleasure at everything—at the weather, at the scenery, at the pretty village, at the children, at the cottages, at the church—all of which, it seemed to the little party, had put on a holiday garb in honour of Phœbe. The flowers were brighter, the sunlight clearer, the birds sang more sweetly, as they walked and talked, each of the Lethbridges claiming a share in Phœbe's society, and each obtaining it. Now with Bob, now with Fanny, now with Aunt Leth, now with Uncle—she ran from one to another, chatting gaily, and bursting out into snatches of song. It was her day, her very own—a day of sunshine without and within.
Mrs. Pamflett's amiability needs a word of explanation. The conversation she had had with her son Jeremiah had opened her eyes as to his intentions; and both to please him and to win Phœbe's favour she had offered to assist the young girl. But for Jeremiah's sake she would not have dreamt of such a thing. She had lain awake half the night thinking of the conversation, and she had come to the conclusion that it would be a fine match for Jeremiah. Much as she had disliked Phœbe, she admired her son for his ambition. Miser Farebrother's "aching of bones" was growing worse every week, every day; suffering as he did, it would soon be impossible for him to give any personal attention to his business in London. No one understood it, no one could attend to it, but Jeremiah. What, then, was more feasible than Jeremiah's scheme of becoming Miser Farebrother's son-in-law? "To think," she mused in the night, "that it never entered my mind! But Jeremiah's got a head on him. He will be a millionaire, and I shall be a lady!" The idea of a repulse—that Phœbe would not think Jeremiah good enough for her—never occurred to Mrs. Pamflett; if it had, she would have rejected it with scorn. What! her son, her bright boy—handsome, shrewd, and clever—not good enough for the best lady in the land! A little chit like Phœbe might consider herself lucky that such a man as Jeremiah should condescend to her. "I can't, for the life of me, see," she mused, "why Jeremiah should be so taken with her; but there's no accounting for a man's fancies. And then he said he wasn't particular. Ah! Jeremiah knows what he's about." All her hopes, all her desires, all her ambitions, being centred in her bright boy, she determined to assist him by every means in her power. She commenced the next morning, on this happy birthday, and, to Phœbe's surprise, wished her a happy birthday and many returns of them, and offered to relieve the young girl of all responsibility in the preparing of the tea for her friends. Phœbe met her advances gladly. On such a day no suspicion of sinister motives could occur to a nature so sweet, so pure, so innocent; and when Mrs. Pamflett asked her to accept a brooch, she received it with a pleasant feeling of gratitude. "It is an old brooch," Mrs. Pamflett said, "a memento; and although it is not very valuable, it comes from my heart." There was a certain literal truth in this, because the brooch was one which Mrs. Pamflett was in the habit of wearing; it might not have been considered a very suitable gift for a young girl like Phœbe, as it contained a lock of some dead-and-gone person's hair, arranged as a feather or a curl over a tombstone. Once upon a time it doubtless had a meaning, and might have brought a light of joy or sorrow to special human eyes; but the memories which sanctified it being deader than the deadest ghost that superstition could conjure up, it certainly could not be considered a suitable gift for Phœbe. Its fatal meaning for her lay in the future.
When Mrs. Pamflett said to Phœbe that perhaps she would like to go and meet her friends at the railway station, she thought it likely that Jeremiah would be in the train. He had not told her by which train he was coming, and her desire was to give him an opportunity of walking home with Phœbe. She did not betray herself when she saw Phœbe return in the company of the Lethbridges and without Jeremiah. She possessed a gift invaluable to sly, secretive natures—the gift of absolute self-repression. Phœbe introduced Mrs. Pamflett to her friends. Aunt Leth was already acquainted with her, and was astonished at the graciousness and amiability of the housekeeper, her previous experience of her having been quite the reverse. Uncle Leth nodded and said, "How d'ye do?" but Fanny was rather stiff—"uppish," as Mrs. Pamflett subsequently told her son.
"Tea will not be ready for half an hour or so," said Mrs. Pamflett, aside, to Phœbe. "I have set it upstairs in your favourite room."
"O," was Phoebe's delighted rejoinder, "how kind of you!"
"I want you to love me," said Mrs. Pamflett. "If you find that my only wish is to please you, perhaps you will."
"Indeed I will," said Phœbe; and thought, "Perhaps my father will love me too."
She asked the Lethbridges to wait a moment or two, and she went to her father's room.