"You will not love them long," said Mrs. Pamflett, composedly, "if you have a daughter's feelings. Your aunt confessed to your father that the reason she had welcomed you at her house was because she looked for a proper return in money from him. Why, my pet--" "Mrs. Pamflett!" cried Phoebe, interrupting her again. "Yes, pet?" "You have never used that term of endearment to me before," said Phoebe, resolutely, "and I should prefer you would not do so now." "You would prefer!" exclaimed Mrs. Pamflett, softly, but the artificial crust of tenderness was beginning to be broken by her true deceitful nature. "But then you are only a child. You may not quite know what is good for you. And so, pet, your aunt confessed the whole plot. Would you be surprised to hear that she has kept an account of everything she has done for you, of every meal you have eaten, of every night you slept at her house, and that she is going to send it in to your father?" "I should be very much surprised," said Phoebe. "You will find it true. Oh, the artfulness, the deceitfulness of women! Men are almost as bad--at least some of them are. There are exceptions; Jeremiah is one--the soul of truth and honour--and as for cleverness, there's no saying how clever he is. Said your father to that scheming lawyer, Mr. Cornwall, who has been playing upon your feelings, and who is employed by your aunt to ruin us all--said your father to him, while you were lying on the ground: 'There is my daughter. You have come to ask my consent to her marriage with you. You are free to take her; but, knowing what you are, I will not give you one penny of my money with her!' 'What!' cried the lawyer; 'not one penny?' 'Not one penny,' said your father. 'If you love her, as you say you do, for herself alone, there she is; but neither now nor at any time, before or after my death, shall one penny of my hard-earned money go into your pocket.' 'In that case,' said the fine lawyer, 'I will have nothing to do with her.' Then your father burst into a passion, and I am certain that if he had been a younger man he would have struck Mr. Cornwall to the earth. Jeremiah started forward to do it, but your father laid hold of him, and told him not to soil his fingers by touching such a reptile. It was as much as he could do to prevent my Jeremiah from thrashing the villain who wanted to get you in his toils. Then your father ordered your aunt and her lawyer friend out of the house, and warned them never to show their faces here again." "You forget," said Phoebe, "my father did that in my hearing." "And he repeated it afterward. They were glad enough to get away, my pet, and I hope that they will never annoy you again." "Suppose, Mrs. Pamflett," said Phoebe, "that I were to write to my aunt all you have told me?"