But Phœbe did not want a tonic. “Mother doesn’t believe in medicine for children,” she declared. “She’d like it better if I didn’t take any. Wouldn’t she, Daddy?”
Her father looked at her keenly. Then he tucked her under his arm. “I want a talk with my baby,” he declared. They went into Grandma’s room together. And no one followed them. Evidently her father had something very particular to say.
He had. For when he was seated, he drew her to him, and looked up into her face—anxiously! “I’ve got something important to tell you,” he said.
“About Mother?” she asked eagerly.
“N-n-ot exactly.”
As he looked away, plainly embarrassed, a great fear came to her. What Manila had said was coming true—and he was about to confess it! A step-mother!
She longed then to kneel beside him, to beg him to promise her that he would never marry, to tell him she could not bear it. But she held back.
“No, it’s just that I have to take quite a trip,” her father went on.
“West?” she cried. She turned his face. Her eyes were shining.
“To South America—Peru,” he answered.