Monica's eyes grew very soft. It seemed wonderful to her this courage in two lonely women.
Suddenly she leaned forward in her saddle, and spoke very gently.
"Would you like to oblige me—very much?" She smiled into the girl's earnest face.
Phyllis flushed with pleasure.
"Why, surely—mam."
"Then don't call me 'mam,'" Monica said, in a tone calculated to leave the girl with no feeling of shame at her respectful attitude. Then she laughed in the way Phyllis liked to hear. "You see, I am just the same as you, Phyllis—if I do wear a tailored riding habit. We're both farmers—in our way."
Phyllis blushed, but shook her head with a simple yet definite decision.
"I won't call you 'mam' if you don't like it," she said readily. "But I can't help thinking there's a big—big difference, if you don't mind me speaking so plainly."
Monica's interest was sincere.
"Go on, child," she said. "I like to hear you talk. It—it reminds me of some one I'm—interested in."