"No, aunt," said Phœbe, with many kisses, "I can't do that. You must all come to me."
"To you, dear! Where?"
"To Parksides, aunt."
Aunt Leth looked grave. "Have you your father's permission, Phœbe?"
"Yes, aunt; he gave it willingly. I don't mean to say it was his idea; it was mine, and he consented at once when I asked him. I can only ask you to a poor little tea," said Phœbe, her lips slightly trembling, "but I hope you won't mind. I should so like it! Uncle Leth and Fanny and Bob have never been to Parksides, and though I can't give them a grand entertainment, I don't think it will make any difference."
"Nothing can make any difference in our love for you, my dear."
"Then you will come, all of you!"
"Yes, dear, we will come, because I see it will be a pleasure to you, and that will make it a pleasure to us."
Aunt Leth pressed her hand fondly over the young girl's head, and just for one moment there were tears in both their eyes; but they were instantly dried, and with a smile and a kiss they busied themselves preparing for the reading of the play. These were soon completed, and the gentlemen were called in.
"Capital! capital!" exclaimed Kiss, as he contemplated the arrangements—the lights on the table, the chairs ranged round, the place of honour for himself so disposed that he could either sit or stand. "As good as a green-room, Linton."