“I feel tolerably substantial, thank you,” returned Phillis, ungraciously, for, in common with other girls, she hated to be pitied for her looks, and she had a notion that Mrs. Cheyne only said this to plague her. “Nan is our head and task mistress. We lead regular lives, have stated hours for work, take plenty of exercise and on the whole, are doing as well as possible.”
“There speaks the Challoner spirit.”
“Oh, yes; that never fails us. But now Nan will be waiting for me, and I only called just to inquire after you.”
“And you did not expect to see me. Well, come again when I am in a better humor for conversation. If you stay longer now I might not be sparing of my sarcasms. By the by, what has become of our young vicar? Tell him he has not converted me yet, and I quite miss his pastoral visits. Do you know,” looking so keenly at Phillis that she blushed with annoyance, “a little bird tells me that our pastor has undertaken the supervision of the Friary. Which is it, my dear, that he is trying to convert?”
The tone and manner were intolerable to Phillis.
“I don’t understand you, Mrs. Cheyne,” she returned, with superb youthful haughtiness. “Mr. Drummond is a kind neighbor, and so is Miss Mattie. You may keep these insinuations for him, if you will.” Then she would have escaped without another glance at her tormentor, but Mrs. Cheyne detained her:
“There, never mind. I will take back my naughty speech. It was rude and impertinent of me, I know that. But I like you all the better for your spirit; and, my dear, take care of yourself and your pretty sisters, for he is not worthy of one of you.”
“Oh, Mrs. Cheyne! for shame!” And Phillis’s gray eyes sparkled with lively indignation.
“He is a very ordinary good young man; and you and your sisters are real metal, and worth your weight in gold. There! go away, child; and come and see me again, for it does me good to torment you!” And the singular woman drew the girl into her arms suddenly and kissed her forehead, and then pushed her away. “To-morrow, or the next day, but not to-night,” she said, hurriedly. “I should make you cross fifty times if you stay longer to-night.” And Phillis was too thankful to be released to linger any longer; but her cheeks were burning as she walked down the avenue.
“Why do people always put these things into girls’ heads?” she said to herself. “A young man cannot come into the house, cannot say pleasant words, or do kind neighborly actions, but one must at once attribute motives of this kind. I have not been free from blame myself in this matter, for I have feared 217 more than once that Nan’s sweet face attracted him,—poor Mr. Drummond! I hope not, for he would not have a chance against Dick. I wonder if I ought to say a word?—if it would be premature or unnecessary? But I should hate him to be unhappy,”—here Phillis sighed, and then threw up her head proudly: “I might say just a word, mentioning Dick,—for he does not know of his existence. I wonder if he would take the hint. I could do it very cleverly, I know. I hate to see people burning their fingers for nothing: I always want to go to their rescue. He is tiresome, but he is very nice. And, heigh-ho! what a crooked world we live in!—nothing goes quite straight in it.” And Phillis sighed again.