“Amelius wishes particularly to speak to you, aunt.”
“Tell him to save himself the trouble. He may reconcile your uncle to his marriage—he won’t reconcile Me.”
“It’s not about that, aunt; it’s about Phoebe.”
“Does he want me to take Phoebe back again?”
At that moment Amelius appeared in the hall, and answered the question himself. “I want to give you a word of warning,” he said.
Mrs. Farnaby smiled grimly. “That excites my curiosity,” she replied. “Come in. I don’t want you,” she added, dismissing her niece at the door. “So you’re willing to wait ten years for Regina?” she continued, when Amelius was alone with her. “I’m disappointed in you; you’re a poor weak creature, after all. What about that young hussy, Phoebe?”
Amelius told her unreservedly all that had passed between the discarded maid and himself, not forgetting, before he concluded, to caution her on the subject of the maid’s companion. “I don’t know what that man may not do to mislead Phoebe,” he said. “If I were you, I wouldn’t drive her into a corner.”
Mrs. Farnaby eyed him scornfully from head to foot. “You used to have the spirit of a man in you,” she answered. “Keeping company with Regina has made you a milksop already. If you want to know what I think of Phoebe and her sweetheart—” she stopped, and snapped her fingers. “There!” she said, “that’s what I think! Now go back to Regina. I can tell you one thing—she will never be your wife.”
Amelius looked at her in quiet surprise. “It seems odd,” he remarked, “that you should treat me as you do, after what you said to me, the last time I was in this room. You expect me to help you in the dearest wish of your life—and you do everything you can to thwart the dearest wish of my life. A man can’t keep his temper under continual provocation. Suppose I refuse to help you?”
Mrs. Farnaby looked at him with the most exasperating composure. “I defy you to do it,” she answered.