“You mean to desert Rhoda, because she has lost the paltry money that you expected she would have?”
For once in his life, Mr Marcus Welles seemed startled and taken at a disadvantage.
“I was afraid you wanted her chiefly for her money, but I did not believe you capable of this! So you do not care for her at all? And you run away, afraid to face the pangs you have created, and to meet the eyes of the maid you have so foully wronged. Shame on you!”
“Phoebe, you must be mad!” exclaimed Mrs Latrobe, rising. “Don’t listen to her, dear Mr Welles; ’tis a most distressing scene for you to bear. I am infinitely concerned my daughter should have so far forgotten herself as to address you with such vulgar abuse. I can only excuse her on the ground—”
“Dearest Madam, there is every excuse,” said Mr Welles, with the sweetest magnanimity. “Sweet Mrs Phoebe is a woodland bird, untrammelled as yet by those fetters which we men and women of the world must needs bear. ’Tis truly delightful to see the charming generosity and the admirable fire with which she plays the knight-errant. Indeed, Madam, such disinterested warmth and fervour of heart are seen but too seldom in this worn old world. Suffer me to entreat you not to chide Mrs Phoebe for her charming simplicity and high spirit.”
“Since Mr Welles condescends to intercede for you, Phoebe, notwithstanding your shocking behaviour, I am willing to overlook it this time; but I warn you I shall not prove thus easy another time.”
“I am sure I hope there will never be another time!” cried Phoebe, her eyes flashing.
“Phoebe, go to your chamber, and don’t let me hear one word more,” said Mrs Latrobe, severely.
And Phoebe obeyed, rushing upstairs with feet that seemed to keep pace with the whirlwind in her heart.
“Phoebe, I wonder whether of these ribbons, the silk or the gauze, would go best with— Why, whatever in the world is the matter?” said Rhoda, breaking off.