“They hug the shore,” she said.
“Oh! Do they?... Why?”
“Canoeing is said to be a dangerous sport.” Phœbe talked through the window as she prepared the muffins. “And it is. Although, for myself, I’m thinkin’ there’s less danger out in the middle of the Lake where everybody can see you with field-glasses than goin’ in and out among the bushes and gettin’ out ever so often to sit down under a tree and rest.”
“I don’t get that,” said Richard.
“You wouldn’t,” commented Phœbe dryly. “I believe I once called you a clever rascal. I apologize and withdraw the ‘clever.’ You are not clever.”
“Very good! Very good!” With an effort Richard had caught the point of her satire and applauded politely. But his mind was elsewhere, as evidenced by his sudden remark, “You told me the Wells’ were prosperous.”
“Well, aren’t they?”
“No. They’re in bad straits financially. Perhaps you have known; at any rate my instinct tells me that it will do no harm to tell you.”
Phœbe left her muffins toasting and came out to him.
“Who’s been puttin’ that into your head?” she inquired seriously.