"Tell me all you know, Reynolds," she said, fixing her clear grey eyes on him; "don't keep anything back. I am quite prepared, for I feel sure all will come right."
And then Reynolds told her, first of all looking round to see if any one should be listening.
"He is staying at 63 Dutton Street," he whispered.
"63 Dutton Street!" she exclaimed, and then checked herself. "Why, that is where Mrs. Coates lives!" in a lower voice.
"Yes, he is lodging with her."
"Well! well!" She hardly knew what to say. Surely God had led Ralph there—but why?—why?
"Why? Why?" kept repeating through her brain as she went about her work.
That morning she received a letter from Bessie, in which that young lady said: "When are you coming to see me? Couldn't you come this afternoon?"
"Yes, I will," she said to herself. "Bessie's brain is younger than mine, and quicker. Perhaps she can tell me what I ought to do."
When Phebe knew of the intended visit, she said: "Well, I am glad! I do believe you are improving in your old age. Be sure and tell Bessie she has my permission to give you a good scolding for not going sooner."