"It's true I was very, very busy," admitted Mrs. Fabian thoughtfully, with the return of her ever-ready tone of virtue. "I had the best nurses and governesses. They couldn't speak a word of English,—and I didn't neglect the children. I made it a point to hear them say their prayers every night that I wasn't going out."
Phil's clasped finger tips were pressed to his lips and he did not reply to this. He admired Mrs. Fabian's exquisite costumes, and now he dropped his twinkling eyes to the hem of her gossamer gown.
"How often do you write to your mother?" pursued Mrs. Fabian.
"I'd be ashamed to tell you," he answered.
She sighed. "It's beautiful," she declared; again wistful. "I suppose she has told you about our dear old dull island."
"Brewster's Island? I don't remember her talking of it; but Eliza has spoken of my mother having been there."
At the mention of her humble enemy Mrs. Fabian's nostrils dilated. "Eliza!" she repeated indignantly. "Every time I think of the impudence of that woman—" she paused, at a loss for words.
"I suppose the island was named for Eliza's family," hazarded Phil.
"I suppose so. You may call nearly every islander 'Brewster,' and seldom go wrong." Mrs. Fabian continued: "Edgar made a joke of the barrel affair, but Kathleen put on tragedy airs at the idea of my trying to get my own. Kathleen knows so much more than her mother, you understand. She knows so much more about everything than she will ten years from now. It's rather painful. Well, of course you didn't realize what you were doing in helping Eliza spirit the things away. I'm glad the creature has gone, for your sake. She would have been a dreadful bore to you as a part of Aunt Mary's legacy."
"I feel very kindly toward Eliza," said Phil. Aunt Mary's letter was against his heart where it always lay. "She did too much for Aunt Mary for me ever to forget it."