‘Yes, that is just the reason why I like it,’ said Phœbe, with bright gladness in her countenance.
‘But is that the motive Miss Fennimore puts before you?’ said Honor, a little ironically.
‘She does not say so,’ answered Phœbe. ‘She says that she never interferes with her pupils’ religious tenets. But, indeed, I do not think she teaches us anything wrong, and there is always Robert to ask.’
This passed as the two ladies were entering the house and preparing for the evening meal. The table was placed in the bay of the open window, and looked very inviting, the little silver tea-pot steaming beside the two quaint china cups, the small crisp twists of bread, the butter cool in ice-plant leaves,
and some fresh fruit blushing in a pretty basket. The Holt was a region of Paradise to Phœbe Fulmort; and glee shone upon her sweet face, though it was very quiet enjoyment, as the summer breeze played softly round her cheeks and danced with a merry little spiral that had detached itself from her glossy folds of light hair.
‘How delicious!’ she said. ‘How sweet the honeysuckle is, dear old thing! You say you have known it all your life, and yet it is fresh as ever.’
‘It is a little like you, Phœbe,’ said Honor, smiling.
‘What! because it is not exactly a pretty flower?’
‘Partly; and I could tell you of a few other likenesses, such as your being Robert’s woodbine, yet with a sort of clinging freedom. Yes, and for the qualities you share with the willow, ready to give thanks and live on the least that Heaven may give.’
‘But I don’t live on the least that Heaven may give,’ said Phœbe, in such wonder that Honor smiled at the justice of her simile, without impressing it upon Phœbe, only asking—