"Oh, no," replied Phillis, in despair; "we will not trouble you to do that! Nan and I will call and ask after your foot, and then we will explain. There is a little difficulty: you might not care to be friends with us if you knew," went on Phillis with burning cheeks; "but we will call and explain. Oh, yes, Nan and I will call!"
"Do; I shall expect you," returned Mrs. Cheyne, half amused and half mystified at the girl's obvious confusion. What did the child mean? They were gentle-people,--one could see that at a glance. They were in reduced circumstances: they had come down to Hadleigh to retrench. Well, what did that matter? People's wealth or poverty never affected her; she would think none the less well of them for that; she would call at the Friary and entertain them at the White House with as much pleasure as though they lived in a palace. The little mystery piqued her, and yet excited her interest. It was long since she had interested herself so much in anything. To Miss Middleton she had always been cold and uncertain. Mr. Drummond she treated with a mixture of satire and haughtiness that aroused his ire. Phillis's frankness and simplicity had won her for a moment to her earlier and better self: she conceived an instantaneous liking for the girl who looked at her with such grave kindly glances. "I shall expect you, remember," she repeated, as Nan at that moment appeared in sight.
"Oh, yes, Nan and I will come," returned Phillis, slowly, and almost solemnly; but an instant afterwards a flicker of amusement played round her mouth. It was painful, of course; but, still, how droll it was!
"How long you have been, Nan!" she exclaimed, a little unreasonably, as Nan ran towards them, flushed and breathless from her haste.
"It has not been long to me," observed Mrs. Cheyne, pointedly. She talked more to Nan than to Phillis after this, until the servants appeared with the wheeled chair; but nevertheless her last words were for Phillis. "Remember your promise," was all she said, as she held out her hand to the girl; and Phillis tried to smile in answer, though it was rather a failure after all.
"What a fool I made of myself yesterday! but to-day Richard is himself again," said Phillis, as she gathered up another muslin curtain in her arms ready to hand to Nan, who was mounted on some steps. It was only Monday afternoon, but the girls had done wonders: the work-room, as they called it, was nearly finished. The great carved wardrobe and mahogany table had been polished by Dorothy's strong hands. Mrs. Challoner's easy-chair and little work-table at one window looked quite inviting; the sewing-machine and Nan's rosewood davenport were in their places. A hanging cupboard of old china, and a few well-bound books, gave a little coloring and finish, and one or two fine old prints that had hung in the dining-room at Glen Cottage had been disposed with advantage on the newly-papered walls. An inlaid clock ticked on the mantelpiece, and some handsome ruby-colored vases stood on either side of it. Nan was quite right when she had glanced round her a few minutes ago in a satisfied manner and said no one need be ashamed of living in such a room.