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"I'm glad the girl has so much sense. Of course we can't do anything of the sort, and I'm surprised at Archie's forgetting what he owes to the family in this rash manner. Give me my cap, child I must speak to Alec at once." And Aunt Plenty twisted her hair into a button at the back of her head with one energetic twirl. "Do speak kindly, Aunty, and remember that it was not Phebe's fault.
There was such a certainty of it lying behind Phebe's sorrowful eyes as she whispered "I know it," that Felicita had not cared to ask how she knew it. She did not trouble herself with details. The one fact was there: her husband had absconded.
But Felix and Alice and Hilda lingered about Phebe till the last moment. Yet they said but little to one another; what could they say which would tell half the love or half the sorrow they felt? Phebe's heart was full. How gladly would she have gone out with these dear children, even if she left behind her her little birth-place on the hills, if it had not been for Mr. Clifford and Jean Merle!
Your whole family even Hosmer, pretending to be so wise are blind as bats. You can't even see that Phebe's hair is as dyed as her stories. She says she is on the stage, but it's a pretty stage! I've been to Stanwick and seen those Parisian Dainties and burlesque shows. They're nothing but a lot of half-naked women cavorting and singing fast songs.
It was, indeed, beautifully interesting to observe how Phebe's little hands wandered over the source of her sustenance, and seemed to say, as plainly as hands could speak it, "I have you now, and will not part with you again." Phebe grew opened her sweet blue eyes smiled and won all hearts in the course of a month.
My daughters, too, kissed and fondled their sister, "and all went merry as a marriage bell." "How sweet is pleasure after pain!" The contrast of Phebe's fortune greatly enhanced the enjoyment; and, in the space of a few short months, Phebe Fortune was married to her own cousin, the son of Lord and Lady D , her kind protectors.
Phebe and Hilda were gone to their usual summer haunt, Phebe's quaint little cottage on the solitary mountain-moor; where he was going to join them for a day or two, before they went to Mr. Clifford, in the old house at Riversborough.
"Is there?" Phebe's tone betrayed no interest in the tidings. "Yes. I came down to see if I could induce you to go with me." "I hate dancing in August," she said flatly. "I'm sorry. Besides, one must do something down here." "One can, if one wants to. I don't. There's no sense in coming to this kind of a place, just to put on one's best clothes and dance all night in a stuffy room."
It didn't seem to me there was much tune to it, nor time neither; you couldn't so much as tell where one line left off and the next begun." Phebe's fan slid out of her lap, and, as she stooped to pick it up, she dropped her handkerchief. "Have you seen him?" she asked, when she was upright once more. "How?" "Have you ever seen this Mr. Bartlett?" "Yes.
Allyn's voice hailed her, as she rode wearily up the drive, the water squelching in her shoes and her soaked skirt flapping dismally about her pedals. "Were you out in all that shower?" "Yes." "Why didn't you go under cover?" "There wasn't any cover to go under." Phebe's tone was not altogether amicable. "But the mud? It's all over your face, and your wheel, and your hair." "I fell off." "Where?"
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