“Objects, Cecil?” loftily. “Surely she would not wish to retain a servant who had been rude to me?”
“She is my only friend,” Molly muttered, in a despairing tone, and the mother-in-law rejoined, testily:
“I might say that you do not deserve any friends, if I chose to speak plainly, but I do not wish to wound you. You can not expect me to retain that woman at The Acacias. I have secured another maid for you—a splendid woman with a good recommendation—and she will take Phebe’s place tomorrow.”
From the pale lips of the despised young wife came a moan of remonstrance; but no one heeded it, for Cecil had gone abruptly out of the room, and Mrs. Laurens, after her final sentence, sat down coolly to her book.
Phebe had been on the alert and knew that Cecil had taken his hat and left the house.
She peered into the morning-room and saw her young mistress in tears and her mother-in-law absorbed in her novel.
Stalking boldly across the room, she said:
“You are tired out with coming down to breakfast, Mrs. Laurens. Hadn’t you better come back to your room and rest?”
Molly put her hand on the strong arm and went away sobbing unheeded by the reader, who did not turn her head to notice the departure.
“Now then, who has hurt you, my pet?” Phebe demanded when she had laid Molly down on her soft sofa, and with bitter sobs the whole story was blurted out, for Molly’s heart was too full to hold it.