It was but for a few minutes that Phoebe dared to remain there. She wiped her eyes and forced back her tears. Then she went upstairs and tapped at Betty’s door.
“There’s that worriting Sue,” she heard Betty say inside; and then the door was opened. “Mrs Phoebe, my dear, I ask twenty pardons; I thought ’twas that Sukey,—she always comes a-worriting. What can I do for you, my dear?”
“I want you to get that letter off first thing in the morning, Betty.”
Betty turned the letter all ways, scanned the address, and inspected the seal.
“Mrs Phoebe, you’ll not bear me malice, I hope. You know you’re only young, my dear. Are you quite certain you’ll never be sorry for this here letter?”
“’Tis not what you think, Betty,” said Phoebe with a smile on her pale lips which had a good deal of sadness in it. “You are sorry for my cousin, I know. ’Twill be a kind act towards her, Betty, if you will send that letter.”
Betty looked into Phoebe’s face so earnestly that she dropped her eyes.
“I see,” said Mrs Latrobe’s maid. “I’m not quiet a blind bat, Mrs Phoebe. The letter shall go, my dear. Make your mind easy.”
Yet Betty did not see all there was to be seen.
“Why, Phoebe!” exclaimed Rhoda, when she got back to the bedroom, “where have you been?”