Toby chuckled.
“She’s a slick one, is Miss Halliday!” he murmured. “But I’ll keep an eye on her now.”
“Aren’t you hungry?” asked Phœbe, remembering he had been on duty since the evening before.
He shook his head.
“Brought some bread and cheese with me, Miss Daring. Good-by.”
“Good-by, Toby.”
The afternoon passed slowly for Phœbe. She was still wrought up over the exciting events of the past few days and felt that she was almost as much in the dark concerning Judge Ferguson’s intentions as was Phil. She tried to copy some manuscript on her typewriter, for she had been neglecting the work lately, but somehow the girl had conceived an undefined horror of her room. So she went to sit with Cousin Judith, while she finished darning her stockings.
“Phœbe, dear,” said Miss Eliot, “there’s something mysterious going on in this house.”
“Is there?” asked Phœbe, with downcast eyes.
“I think so. Phil has not been himself, lately. I’m sure he is worrying dreadfully over something. Is anything wrong at the bank?”