“Nonsense! beauty shall rank with the highest of them that day,” said Amy, proudly. “Nay, do not blush; you know I would not flatter you.”
“You are so changed,” said Phœbe, thoughtfully. “I seem to remember you as one belonging to the past, Amy; and it has often made me feel very sad.”
“Think differently about it,” said Amy, assuming a light, gay tone. “I know I am changed, but changed for the better. I have dropped out of my bundle of feelings a parcel called sensibility, or sensitiveness, or something of that kind, Phœbe, and I am glad of it. I find myself in a world where it is inconvenient to have fine feelings, and I have resolved to take the world as I find it.”
“Suppose,” said Phœbe—“but you will forgive me for being candid with you?”
“Yes, yes,” said Amy, lightly; “say whatever you please, dear; you have the right to do so.”
“Supposing, then, that Mr. Hammerton should return.”
Amy was discomposed for a moment at the suggestion; but she recovered her self-possession very speedily.
“Well, suppose he should?” said Amy, whilst she thought of her reply. “How would that affect me?”
“Yes,” said Phœbe, with an earnest look in her deep blue eyes.
“You are thinking of what I told you in the summer-house, in that past time of which you have spoken.”