"I don't know about the politeness, but of course there is plenty of crime. For instance, last assizes Bill Grimes, out gardener's son at Summerleas, was transported for poaching; and eight months ago John Haddon, the black-smith, fired at his landlord; and it is a well-known fact that Mr. De Vere beats his wife dreadfully every now and then; but there are no such stories as the one you have just told to me. I think it disgraceful. What is the use of it all? How can it end?"
"Sometimes in an elopement; sometimes, as in Blanche's case, in nothing. You must understand she is perfectly respectable, and that the very nicest people receive her with open arms. But then none of them would be in the least surprised if any morning she was missing. And, indeed, sometimes I wish she would like somebody well enough to quit the country with him. Anything would be decenter than these perpetual intrigues."
"Oh, no, Bebe; nothing could be so bad as that. Little as I care for her, I hope I shall never hear such evil tidings of her."
"Phyllis, you are a dear charitable child, and I like you—it would be impossible for me to say how much. Do you know"—putting her hand on mine—"I have always sneered at the idea of any really sincere attachment existing between women? But since I have known you I have recanted and confessed myself in error. If you were my sister I could not love you better."
Contrasting her secretly with meek-eyed Dora, I feel guiltily that to me Bebe is the more congenial of the two. With my natural impulsiveness I throw my arms round her neck and favor her with a warm kiss.
"But I am not charitable," goes on Bebe, when she has returned my chaste salute, "and I detest Blanche with all my heart. There is something so sly and sneaking about her. She would do one an injury, if it suited her, even while accepting a kindness at one's hands. Do you know. Phyllis, she is still madly in love with Sir Mark, while I think he is decidedly smitten with you?"
My face and throat grow scarlet.
"I hope not," I stammer, foolishly.
"I am sure of it. He never takes his eyes off you, and at times my lady is absolutely wild. I never noticed it so plainly as this evening; and by the bye, ma mie"—very gently and kindly—"I confess it occurred to me—were you flirting with Mark—just a little?"
"I don't know what came over me this evening," I reply, petulantly; "I hardly know what I said or did. Something was on my mind and made my actions false. I don't care a bit for Mark Gore, but still I let it seem as if I did."