“I wonder what will become of me without you, Molly!” said Rhoda, dolefully.
“Oh, you’ll have plenty to do, old Gatepost,” observed Molly, apparently in allusion to Rhoda’s uneventful life. “You’ve got to fall in love with Marcus. I’ll cut you into slices if you do, and make buttered toast of you.”
“Good-bye!” said Rhoda laughing.
“Vale!” responded Molly.
“Good-bye, dear little Phoebe!” was Gatty’s farewell. “I wonder what would have become of me if I had not met you and Mrs Dorothy. For I have asked Him to be my Friend,—you know,—and I think, I think He will.”
“I am sure of it. Good-bye.”
And so Gatty and Molly passed out of the life at White-Ladies.
On returning to the old order of things, Phoebe found Rhoda, as she expected, considerably changed for the worse. What had been a sort of good-humoured condescension was altered into absolute snappishness, and Phoebe was sorely tried. But the influence of Molly, bad as it had been, proved temporary. Rhoda sank by degrees—or shall I say rose?—into her old self, and Phoebe presently had no more to bear than before the visit from Delawarr Court.
About a fortnight after the departure of Gatty and Molly, as Phoebe was sitting at the parlour window with her work, she perceived Mrs Jane Talbot, hooded, cloaked, and pattened,—for the afternoon was damp,—marching up to the side door. The fact was communicated to Madam, who rose and glanced at herself in the chimney-glass, and ringing her little hand-bell, desired Baxter to show Mrs Jane into the parlour.
“Good afternoon, Mrs Jane; ’tis a pleasure I did not look for,” said Madam, as she rose.