"Tweet—tweet—ch-r-r-r"—Cherry in his cage over her head, chirped vigorously by way of consolation, but Phronsie did not lift her head. Cherry seeing all his efforts in vain, stopped his song and rolled one black eye down at her in astonishment, and soon became quite still.
Presently the rustle of a stiff black satin gown became the chief intruder upon the silence. It was so asserting that Phronsie lifted her head to look into the face of Mrs. Chatterton, standing before her, playing with the rings on her long white hands, and regarding her as if she would soon require an explanation of such strange conduct.
"What are you doing, Phronsie?" at last demanded the lady.
"Thinking," said Phronsie; and she laid her chin in her hand, and slowly turned her gaze upon the thin, disagreeable face before her, but not as if in the slightest degree given up to a study of its lines and expression.
"So I perceive," said Mrs. Chatterton harshly. "Well, and what are you thinking of, pray tell?"
Still Phronsie looked beyond her, and it was not until the question had been repeated, that an answer came.
"Of many things," said Phronsie, "but I do not think I ought to tell you."
"And why not, pray?" cried the lady, with a short and most unpleasant laugh.
"Because I do not think you would understand them," said Phronsie. And now she looked at the face she had before overlooked, with a deliberate scrutiny as if she would not need to repeat the attention.
"Indeed!" exclaimed Mrs. Chatterton angrily, "and pray how long since your thoughts have been so valuable?"