“Pounds?” gasped Phoebe.
“Of course!” laughed Rhoda. “I tell you, I mean to be a modish gentlewoman, as good as ever Mrs Vane; and I’ll have a knight at least. Oh, you’ll see, one of these days. I can manage Madam, when I determine on it. Phoebe, there’s the supper bell. Come on.”
And quite regardless of the treasonable language in which she had just been indulging, Rhoda danced down into the parlour, becoming suddenly sober as she crossed the threshold.
Phoebe followed, and unless her face much belied her thoughts, she was a good deal puzzled by her new cousin.
Chapter Two.
Making acquaintances.
“Ah, be not sad, although thy lot be cast Far from the flock, and in a distant waste: No shepherds’ tents within thy view appear, Yet the Chief Shepherd is for ever near.”
Cowper.