“Pardon me,” returned Mr. Dancy, in an interested voice, “perhaps I have no right to inquire, but your words are a little mysterious. Why should you not be intimate with Mrs. Cheyne?”
Phillis grew hot in the darkness. What right had he, a perfect stranger, to question her so closely? And yet, if he were interested in his old friends, perhaps he meant to call at the White House, and then he would hear all about them; and after all, perfect frankness always answered best in the long run. Phillis hesitated so long over her rejoinder that Mr. Dancy said, rather apologetically,— 211
“I see, I have been incautious; but you must not attribute my question to impertinent curiosity. I am anxious to learn all I can about a very old friend, of whom I have long lost sight, and I hoped that you might have been able to satisfy me.”
“Miss Middleton would tell you far more than I.”
“What! Elizabeth Middleton? Oh, no: she is far too much of a saint for me.”
“You know her, too!” exclaimed Phillis, in surprise. “No, I do not think you are curious, Mr. Dancy; it was only a little awkward for me to tell you about our acquaintance with Mrs. Cheyne. My sister and I rendered her a trifling service, and she took a fancy to us, and wished to be friends; but in our present position any close intimacy would be impossible, as we are only dressmakers.”
“Dressmakers!” It is impossible to describe the genuine astonishment, almost dismay, in Mr. Dancy’s voice. “Dressmakers! Pardon me, Miss Challoner, but when one has seen and spoken to a lady like yourself, it is almost incredible.”
This put Phillis on her mettle at once, and in a moment she laid by all her reserve:
“You have been a traveller, Mr. Dancy, and must have seen strange things by this time: it surely cannot be such a matter of surprise that when gentle-people are poor they must work for their bread. When one has ten clever fingers, it is better to use them than to starve. I am not ashamed of my position; my sisters and I are very independent; but, as we do not like to cause other people embarrassment, we prefer to lead hermit lives.”
Phillis’s silvery tones were rather fierce, but it was well that she did not see her companion’s expression of suppressed amusement; there was a little smothered laugh, too, that was turned into a cough.