“Yes; I think you are the most patient maid I know.”
“I can’t tell you, I am sure!” answered Phoebe, in a rather puzzled tone. “I didn’t know I was patient. I don’t think I have often asked for that, specially. Very often, I ask God to give me what He sees I need; and if that be as you say, I suppose He saw I wanted it, and gave it me.”
The admiring look in Gatty’s eyes was happily unintelligible to Phoebe.
“Now then!” said Molly’s not particularly welcome voice, close by them. “Here’s old Edmundson. Clasp your hands in ecstasy, Phoebe. Mum says you and he have got to fall in love and marry one another; so make haste about it. He’s not an ill piece, only you’ll find he won’t get up before noon unless you squirt water in his face. Now then, fall to, and say some pretty things to one another!”
Of course Molly had taken the most effectual way possible to prevent any such occurrence. Phoebe did not dare to lift her eyes; and the chaplain was, if possible, the shyer of the two, and had been dragged there against his will by invincible Molly. Neither would have known what to do, if Gatty had not kindly come to the rescue.
“Pray sit down, Mr Edmundson,” she said, in a quiet, natural way, as if nothing had happened. “I thought I had seen you riding forth, half an hour ago; I suppose it must have been some one else.”
“I—ah—yes—no, I have not been riding to-day,” stammered the perturbed divine.
“Twas a very pleasant morning for a ride,” said mediating Gatty.
“Very pleasant, Madam,” answered the chaplain.
“Have you quite lost your catarrh, Mr Edmundson?”