"I am not snubbing you, Tom," said Phyllis, hastily. "I should be sorry to lose your regard, but the whole truth—that is—you see—why, my family and my hopes of doing something good in work—that's all I care about. Don't you understand, Tom?"
"I think I do," said poor Tom, rather huskily. "You aren't very good at making believe, and there's no kind of use in trying to make me think less well of you. You don't want me to tell you how I feel about your going away, but it is hard—" He stopped, and stooped to pat Nixie. Tom was only a big boy after all, and he was dangerously near tears.
"Dear Tom, you make me feel a selfish brute, but indeed I like you, and I wish we could all be together as before, and yet that I could do what I want to do; but as that can't be, I must choose what I care most for, so don't think much about me, since I am having my own way," said Phyllis, holding to her purpose, though her own eyes were dim. "And to prove how much I trust you, I am going to put dear Babbie in your hands. She isn't quite well lately, though she is so brave and tries so hard to make us all happy that she doesn't talk about herself. Won't you take care of her for me, study her as a doctor, and cheer her up as a friend? Babbie is the most loving, faithful soul in the world; I am afraid she will miss me dreadfully. If you can get her all right again, I'll be your friend fast enough; you'll have no occasion to complain of me."
"I'll look after her," said Tom, "though I don't think there is anything wrong with her. She shall not be lonely if I can help it. By Jove, Phyllis, I wish you weren't quite so wrapped up in your family!"
"But I am; in comparison, there is no one in the world for me. Here we are at home; are you not coming up?" said Phyllis.
"Not to-night. I'll be in to-morrow," said Tom, wringing the hand she extended. "Good luck, Phyllis, and I'm just as much your friend, if you don't feel interested in me."
And Phyllis, having succeeded in her efforts, toiled painfully up-stairs, with the regret of her success.