‘We cannot tell—’ began Phœbe.
‘Do you know anything of this?’ he interrupted, fiercely turning on Miss Fennimore.
‘Nothing, sir. The letters which your sister has received have equally surprised and distressed me.’
‘Then they have set on you, Phœbe! The whole pack in full cry, as if it mattered to them whether I chose to have the Old Gentleman in the house, so long as he did not meddle with you!’
‘I beg your pardon, Mr. Fulmort,’ interposed the governess, ‘the remonstrance is quite just. Had I been aware of the character of some of your late guests, I could not have wished your sisters to remain in the house with them.’
‘Are these your sentiments, Phœbe?’ he asked, sternly.
‘I am afraid they ought to be,’ she sadly answered.
‘Silly child; so this pack of censorious women and parsons have frightened you into giving me up.’
‘Sisters do not give up brothers, Mervyn. You know how I thank you for having me here, but I could not amuse you, or make it pleasant to you, so there must be an end of it.’
‘So they hunt you out to be bullied by Juliana, or slaved to death by Augusta, which is it to be? Or maybe Robert has got his sisterhood cut and dried for you; only mind, he shan’t make away with your £30,000 while I live to expose those popish tricks.’