"But you didn't know Aunt Mary."
"Not until she had gone. Then she revealed herself to me in a letter. I seem to have seen her at her patient work."
"Yes, and Eliza has probably told you that I neglected her." Mrs. Fabian colored and looked at Phil defensively.
"Yes," he answered simply.
"It's a wonder she didn't make you hate me. I know what a virago the creature can be."
"I like," said Phil,—"I like that saying, 'Yesterday is as dead as Egypt.' I like to feel that the only enemy a man can have is himself."
"I'm glad you don't hate me, Phil," returned Mrs. Fabian, again plaintive. "I have enough troubles. 'Qui s'excuse, s'accuse,' and I shall not try to explain to you why I saw so little of Aunt Mary; but it is beyond belief that a common creature like Eliza should dare to sit in judgment on a person in my position."
"Eliza is not a common creature," said Phil quietly.
"I see. Her devotion is all you think of. We won't talk of her, then.—What are you going to do in the summer, Phil?"