“Forget me! I’m out of it. And why should you cheat yourself? And her?”
“Sh!”
Phœbe’s father was standing in the door of Grandma’s room, staring down at the figure on the sofa. “Have you been here all the time?” he asked.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Mm. Haven’t been asleep, I suppose?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, do you think you can stand some very good news?” He came to her.
“Oh,—not back!—not New York!—oh!” Phœbe sprang up, holding out both arms. “When?”
He drew her to him. “Tomorrow. So get all the rest that you can today, little girl. Tomorrow at this time we’ll be whirling along.”
Uncle Bob was watching them. “You mean it?” he asked Phœbe’s father. “You’re going to leave? And not say a word?—Oh, it’s all wrong, Jim! It’s all wrong!”