That bright scheme, too, shone before her, as such a secret of glad hope, that, knowing how uncertain were her chances of pleasure, she prayed that she might not set her heart on it. It was no trifle to her, and her simple spirit ventured to lay her wishes before her loving Father in Heaven, and entreat that she might not be denied, if it were right for her and would be better for Robert; or, if not, that she might be good under the disappointment.
Her orisons sent her forth all brightness, with her small head raised like that of a young fawn, her fresh lips parted by an incipient smile of hope, and her cheeks in a rosy glow of health, a very Hebe, as Mr. Saville had once called her.
Such a morning face as hers was not always met by Miss Fennimore, who, herself able to exist on five hours’ sleep, had no mercy on that of her pupils; and she rewarded Phœbe’s smiling good-morrow with ‘This is better than I expected, you returned home so late.’
‘Robert could not come for me early,’ said Phœbe.
‘How did you spend the evening?’
‘Miss Charlecote read aloud to me. It was a delightful German story.’
‘Miss Charlecote is a very well-informed person, and I am glad the time was not absolutely lost. I hope you observed the condensation of the vapours on your way home.’
‘Robert was talking to me, and the nightingales were singing.’
‘It is a pity,’ said Miss Fennimore, not unkindly, ‘that you should not cultivate the habit of observation. Women can seldom theorize, but they should always observe facts, as these are the very groundwork of discovery, and such a rare opportunity as a walk at night should not be neglected.’
It was no use to plead that this was all very well when there was no brother Robert with his destiny in the scales, so Phœbe made a meek assent, and moved to the piano, suppressing a sigh as Miss Fennimore set off on a domiciliary visit to the other sisters.