know me. She'd think me common."

"What utter nonsense, Phoebe! Do all girls talk such silly nonsense?
Why, of course I'll always be far too fond of you to lose sight of you,
and I expect you and my wife--how idiotic that sounds--will be no end of
friends." He did not think so; but there struck him that there was
something rather plaintive and wistful about Phoebe that afternoon.
Suddenly she rose and settled the basque of her jacket with quick,
nervous fingers.

"I must go," she said hurriedly. "I don't know what Vassie'll say at me
staying up here like this."

"It was awfully nice of you to come," said Ishmael, taking the little
hand that lay idle against a flounce. She made no motion to withdraw it
or to move away, and glancing up at her he saw there were tears in her
eyes. As he looked they slipped over her lashes and rolled down her
cheeks. She made no effort to stay them, nor did she sob--she cried with
the effortless sorrow of a tired child.

"Phoebe! why, what's the matter? Are you unhappy about anything?
Phoebe, do tell me what it is?"

She shook her head but stammered out:

"It's nothing, but I'm sort of frightened.... I can't tell you about
what. And I thought you might be able to help me and put it all right,
but you can't."

"How do you know I can't? You haven't tried me."