“There is only one thing I hate worse than a lie,” she began the conversation as she poured the tea, “and that is the truth.”
“You are quite right,” he agreed as he spread a hot muffin. “Truth is the nastiest dose in the pharmacopœia. Perhaps I came at you too strong, but I think I made no mistake in thinking you can stand a lot. I have always been frank with you, Phœbe, and my instinct tells me——”
“Your instinct had better be careful,” she warned, flushing a little; “it nearly got you a welt across the face.”
“And I am very glad,” he replied calmly. “If you would flame up like that for your friends you would do a lot more to help them out of their troubles. I fear they’ll need all the help you can give them.”
“Perhaps you had better tell me what you know. You take your own risk, of course”—she was regaining her normal cheerfulness—“if I don’t like what you know, you may get this pot of hot tea in your face.... Go on; I’m listenin’—carefully.”
He related the confession which Mrs. Wells had made to him under the hydrangeas, but for prudential reasons he did not divulge the ground of his belief that some of Mrs. Wells’ business transactions may not have been entirely business-like.
To Richard’s surprise, Phœbe broke into nervous laughter.
“What a fool I’ve been,” said she, “ever to get stirred up by all that! Can’t you see that the old lady was just tryin’ you out?”
“No; I don’t see anything of the sort.”
“You believe all she said?”