“Madam!” replied Mr Marcus Welles, with his courtliest bow, “I am sure that a gentlewoman of your parts and discretion can do no less, I cannot but be infinitely sensible of the severe and cruel loss I am about to sustain: still, to my small estate, any other dealing would be of such mischievous consequence, that I think myself obliged to resign the views I proposed to myself.”
Phoebe tried to understand him, and found it impossible.
“This being the case,” continued he, “you will understand, dear Madam, that I thought myself engaged to wait until I might be honoured by some discourse with you: and meanwhile to abstain from any commerce of discourse in other quarters, till I had permission to acquaint you of the affair. I have indeed been in pain until I was able to wait upon you. I shall now be something eased. You, I am certain, dearest Madam, will contrive the business far better than my disordered mind would allow me; and I doubt not ’twould be more agreeable to all parties to communicate by that canal.”
“If you wish it, Sir, it shall certainly be so,” answered Mrs Latrobe, who seemed to be under no doubt concerning Mr Welles’ meaning. “I am yours to serve you in the matter.”
“Dearest Madam, you are an angel of mercy! The sooner I retire, then, the better.”
He kissed Mrs Latrobe’s hand, and came round to Phoebe.
“Mr Welles, you have not seen Rhoda yet. I do not understand!” said Phoebe blankly, as he bowed iver her hand.
“Madam, I have but just now engaged myself—”
“Phoebe, don’t be a goose!” burst from her mother. “You must be a baby if you do not understand. Cannot you see that Mr Welles, in a most honourable manner, which does him infinite credit, withdraws all pretensions to your cousin’s hand, leaving her free to engage herself elsewhere? Really, I should have thought you had sense enough for that.”
For a moment Phoebe looked, with a bewildered air, from her mother to Mr Welles. Then shyness, fear and reserve gave way before indignation. She did understand now.