There was silence for a moment. Phœbe’s father answered then, but he spoke very gravely. “No, no,” he said. “I know who you mean. And that would never do.”
“What’s the matter with her?” Uncle Bob was impatient.
“Nothing,”—calmly. Phœbe heard the scratch of a match.
“You bet your life there’s nothing the matter with her!” (Who was “her”?)
“What makes you think she’d fall in with your plans, old brother?”
“First hand information. She told me that she cared.”
Phœbe’s father laughed again, but in a curious way. “I don’t believe it,” he said.
“It’s true. I made her confess.” (Confess! “Are they talking about me?” Phœbe asked herself.)
“Bob!—But that wasn’t fair! not fair to her!”
“I know,” agreed Uncle Bob, contritely. “But I did it for the sake of the child.—Oh, Jim, before you go——”