But the truth would not do! Uncle Bob had told Phœbe what to say, and she must obey him. It was a fib, and it was not a little one. But it would do much—for herself; for Miss Ruth; last, and most important, for the dear father, who, long ago, had put aside his own dreams for the sake of the elder brother he loved.
Phœbe looked straight into Miss Ruth’s eyes. “Who?” she repeated. “Why, it was Daddy.”
Miss Ruth caught her close, held her for a long moment during which neither moved nor spoke, then pushed back her hair and kissed her. “Phœbe, dear,” she said, “I want to tell you something. From the moment I first saw you I loved you, just as you loved me,—oh, so tenderly! I loved you because you were you; and then, I loved you for another reason——”
“What?” whispered Phœbe.
“Can you keep a secret?”
Phœbe remembered Uncle Bob. She nodded. “I’m keeping several,” she declared.
“Phœbe,” said Miss Ruth, speaking very low, “I loved you because you were his little daughter.”
“Daddy’s?”
“Your dear, fine Daddy’s!”
“Then you’ll be my mother! Oh, Miss Ruth, say that you will! Say you’ll come! Say Yes! Say Yes!”