Then she got out of her chair, and going across the room, closed it carefully. "There, that's better; Polly is always around. Now we are quite alone," coming back to her seat.
"You see, Phronsie," she proceeded, not caring that the brown eyes were slowly adding to their astonishment an expression that augured ill for any plans she might be hoping to carry out toward propitiation. "It is necessary to be careful not to be overheard, for what I am going to say to you must be kept quite secret."
"I must tell Mamsie," said Phronsie distinctly.
"Indeed you will not," declared Mrs. Chatterton. "She is the very one of all others who ought not to know. You can help her, Phronsie, if you only keep quiet."
Phronsie's eyes now became so very large that Mrs. Chatterton hastened to add:
"You know Polly is learning to be a music teacher when she grows up."
Phronsie made no reply.
"And a very creditable one she will be, from all acounts I can gather," contributed Mrs. Chatterton carelessly. "Well, Ben is doing well in Cabot & Van Meter's, so he's no trouble to your mother. As for the two boys, I know nothing about them, one way or the other. But you, as you are a girl, and the only one not provided for, why, I shall show a little kindness in your direction. It's wholly disinterested and quixotic, I know," added Mrs. Chatterton, with a sweeping gaze at the walls and ceilings, "for me to give myself a thought about you or your future. And I shall never receive so much as a thank you for it. But I've passed all my life in thinking of others, Phronsie," here she brought down her attention to the absorbed little countenance, "and I cannot change now," she finished pensively.
A silence fell upon them, so great that Mrs. Chatterton broke it nervously. "Goodness me, Phronsie, you are not like a child; you are too uncanny for anything. Why don't you ask questions about my secret?"
"Because I ought not to know it," said Phronsie, finding her tongue.