“I mean—you know what I mean,—some one to whom you are first, and who has a right to care for you; it gives such a meaning to one’s life. Of course it will come in time; no one can look at you and not prophesy a happy future: it is only I who am impatient and want it to come soon.”
Phillis wrinkled her brows thoughtfully over this speech: she seemed inclined to digest and assimilate it.
“I dare say you are right,” she replied, after a pause. “Yes it would be nice, no doubt.”
“When the real he comes, you will find how nice it is,” rejoined Nan, with sympathetic readiness. “Do you know, Phil, the idea has once or twice occurred to me that Mr. Drummond comes rather often!” But here Phillis shook off her hand and started from her chair.
“There is a moth singing its wings. Poor wee beastie! let me save it, if it be not too late.” And she chased the insect most patiently until the blue-gray wings fluttered into her hand.
“There, I have saved him from utter destruction!” she cried triumphantly, leaning out into the darkness. “He has scorched himself, that is all;” then as she walked back to her sister, her head was erect, and there was a beautiful earnest look upon her face.
“Nannie, I don’t want to find fault with you, but don’t you remember how we used to pride ourselves, in the dear old days, in not being like other girls,—the Paines, for example, or even Adelaide Sartoris, who used to gossip so much about young men.”
Nan opened her eyes widely at this, but made no answer.
“We must not be different now, because our life is narrower and more monotonous. I know, talking so much over our work, we have terrible temptations to gossip; but I can’t bear to think that we should ever lower our standard, ever degenerate into the feeble girlishness we abhor. We never used to talk about young men, Nan, except Dick; and that did not matter. Of course we liked them in their places, and had plenty of fun, and tormented them a little; but you never made such a speech as that at Glen Cottage.”
“Oh, dear! oh, dear! What have I done?” exclaimed Nan, much distressed at this rebuke. “I do think you are right, Phil; and it was naughty of me to put such a thing into your head.”