“Oh, surely, Madam!” answered Lady Betty. “’Tis truly very good of you to ask it; but you are always a general undertaker for your friends.”
“We were sent into this world to do good, my Lady Betty,” returned Madam, sententiously.
Unless Phoebe’s ears were deceived, a whisper very like “Fudge!” came from Rhoda.
The somewhat solemn drive was finished at last; Lady Betty was set down at the Maidens’ Lodge; inquiries were made as to the health of Mrs Marcella, who returned a reply intimating that she was a suffering martyr; and Rhoda and Phoebe at last found themselves free from superveillance, and safe in their bedroom.
“Now that’s just jolly!” was Rhoda’s first remark, with nothing in particular to precede it. “Molly Delawarr’s a darling! I don’t much care for Gatty, and Betty I just hate. She’s a prig and a fid-fad both. But Molly—oh, Phoebe, she’s as smart as can be. Such parts she has! You know, she’s really—not quite you understand—but really she’s almost as clever as I am!”
Phoebe did not seem overwhelmed by this information; she only said, “Is she?”
“Well, nearly,” said Rhoda. “She knows fourteen Latin words, Molly does; and she always brings them in.”
“Into what?” asked Phoebe, with the little amused laugh which was very rare with her.
“Into her discourse, to be sure, child!” said Rhoda, loftily, “You don’t know fourteen Latin words; how should you?”
“How should I, indeed,” rejoined Phoebe, meekly, “if father had not taught me?”