Phœbe fixed her clear, honest eyes upon the white face of Mrs. Pamflett, who made an impotent attempt to return the gaze with equal frankness.
"I remember everything now," said Phœbe, in a tone of forced calmness. "My father turned my dear friends out of the house!"
"He did turn them away. But to call them your dear friends after what they said! Phœbe, Phœbe, you are too simple and confiding. You should be angry; you should cast them off, as your father has done."
"'After what they said'! What did they say? I heard not a word which they should not have spoken."
"That was their artfulness and wickedness. They have been playing upon you all through. It was while you were unconscious and could not hear what was spoken that your false aunt, Mrs. Lethbridge—"
"Stop!" cried Phœbe; "I will not hear her called so. If you wish to tell me anything that passed after I fainted you can do so, but I will not listen to you if you speak against those I love."
"You will not love them long," said Mrs. Pamflett, composedly, "if you have a daughter's feelings. Your aunt confessed to your father that the reason she had welcomed you at her house was because she looked for a proper return in money from him. Why, my pet—"
"Mrs. Pamflett!" cried Phœbe, interrupting her again.
"Yes, pet?"
"You have never used that term of endearment to me before," said Phœbe, resolutely, "and I should prefer you would not do so now."