“Yes, he was very grave,” said Jeannie. “Dear Miss Clifford, it is idle for me to say how sorry I am. But it is very grave, indeed.” Phœbe stood at the window a moment with her back to Jeannie, and Jeannie could see that her hand, which played with the blind-cord, trembled, and at that her courage again failed her, and a sickening helplessness took its place. But almost immediately Phœbe turned round again, and her poor, gray face was quite composed, and her hand firm. “Please tell me what it is, Miss Avesham,” she said. Jeannie rose, took both her hands in hers, and looked at her with infinite compassion. “It is cancer,” she said. Phoebe drew a long sigh. “You will think it very singular of me, Miss Avesham,” she said, “but it is almost a relief to hear that. The fear of it, I think, was worse than the knowledge. Can anything be done?” “An operation could be attempted,” said Jeannie, “but it would be very dangerous, and not hopeful.” “I am glad of that,” said Miss Phœbe, “for you must know, Miss Avesham, that I am a terrible coward, and if there is one thing I dread it is being pulled about by a professional man. I have three teeth now that ought to come out. Would you think it very cowardly of me if I preferred not to have the operation?” “Oh, thank God you bear it so well!” cried Jeannie, suddenly. “No, I should not think it cowardly. I think you are right. You a coward!” she said; “you are the bravest woman I ever saw.” Miss Clifford’s face brightened with pleasure. “I prayed God to let me not be very foolish about it,” she said. “Tell me one more thing. Would there have been a chance if I had gone to a doctor sooner?” “There would,” said Jeannie, simply. “Then will you promise me something?” asked Phœbe. “Anything.” “Don’t let poor Clara know that,” said Phœbe. “And oh, Miss Avesham, supposing she puts it to you rather directly, do you think you could go so far as to--well, to tell her just a little fib about it? It would save Clara a great deal of distress, for she would reproach herself for not having insisted on my seeing a doctor.” “I will lie to any extent,” said Jeannie; “and I promise you that Dr. Maitland shall, too.” Phœbe shrank back. “Oh, you put it so strongly, Miss Avesham,” she said. “I would not ask you to tell a lie, but if you could just be a little diplomatic, if you could lead Clara off the scent, so to speak.” “She shall never know,” said Jeannie. “Thank you so much. And now I will put on my hat and go home. I wonder, Miss Avesham, would it be too much to ask you to come and see us to-morrow morning? I am afraid Clara will be very much upset, and you can deal with her as no one else can. I shall send a line to Dr. Maitland, asking him to come and tell me what I must do.” And she put on her hat, taking great care to have it straight, and adjusted her silk scarf round her neck.