"Do!" exclaimed Mrs. Marchant—"get some more sense into your head, that's what you should do, and drop all your wretched, nonsensical ways."
When Phebe returned Nanna had wisely arranged that she and Mrs. Marchant should finish their tea alone.
Mrs. Marchant's first words were: "Now I know that what our Phill said was true."
"What was that, Mrs. Marchant?"
"That you possess something I don't. If I had had a dress like that spoilt I should have gone into a towering passion, I know I should. But to see you taking it all so calmly, fairly staggered me. Tell me what it is that makes this difference between us?" Mrs. Marchant's voice was quite eager, and she looked beseechingly into Phebe's face.
"Perhaps several things," said Phebe, after a moment's hesitation; "I have trained myself not to get into flurries if I can help it, for they never accomplish anything. Then I knew Bessie was grieved enough without me adding one word more. But the chief thing is—shall I tell you?—do you really want to know?"
"Yes, I do, for I long to be like you." There was a catch in her voice that quite went to Phebe's heart.
"My first thought was, Jesus is here, and He would not like to see me agitated over such a little thing."
"Jesus!"
"Yes,—Jesus."