“I beg, my dear,” answered Mrs Latrobe, “you will not make extravagant speeches. There might be not another man in the world, that you should go into such a frenzy. We shall yet find you a husband, never fear.”
“Not one like him, I hope!” murmured Phoebe. “And I don’t think Rhoda wants anybody else.”
“Phoebe,” said her mother, “I am extreme concerned at the coarseness of your speeches. I had hoped you were a gentlewoman.”
“Well, Mother,” said Phoebe, firing up again, “if Mr Welles be a gentleman, I almost hope not!”
“My dear,” said Mrs Latrobe, “Mr Welles is a gentleman. The style in which he announced his desire to withdraw from his suit to your cousin, was perfect. A prince could not have done it better.”
“I should hope a prince would not have done it at all!” was the blunt response from Phoebe.
“You are not a woman of the world, my dear, but a very foolish, ignorant child, that does not know properly what she is saying. ’Tis so near bed-time you need not descend again. You will get over your disappointment, Rhoda, when you have slept, and I shall talk with you presently. Good-night, my dears.”
And Mrs Latrobe closed the door, and left the cousins together.