"I made some excuse and left them together, because I could see Mrs. Cheyne was dying to get rid of me; and I'm always amiable, and like to please people. Oh, it was the funniest sight, I assure you!--Mrs. Cheyne with her long fingers blazing with diamond rings, and the peas rolling down her silk dress; and mother just going on with her business in her quiet way. Oh, I had such a laugh when I was back in the work-room!" It cost Phillis some trouble to be properly demure when Mrs. Cheyne came into the work-room some time afterwards in search of her. Perhaps her mischievous eyes betrayed her, for Mrs. Cheyne shook her head at her in pretended rebuke: "Ah, I see; you will persist in treating things like a comedy. Well, that is better than putting on tragedy airs and making yourselves miserable. Now I have seen your mother, I am not quite so puzzled." "Indeed!" and Phillis fixed her eyes innocently on Mrs. Cheyne's face. "No; but I am not going to make you vain by telling you what I think of her: indiscriminate praise is not wholesome. Now, when are you coming to see me?--that is the point in question." "Dorothy will bring home your dress on Saturday," replied Phillis, a little dryly. "If it requires alteration, perhaps you will let me know, and of course I will come up to the White House at any time." "But I do not mean to wait for that. You are misunderstanding me purposely, Miss Challoner. I want you to come and talk to me one evening,--any evening. No one but Miss Mewlstone will be there." "Oh, no!" responded Phillis, suddenly turning very red: "I do not think that would do at all, Mrs. Cheyne. I do not mean to be rude or ungrateful for your kindness, but--but----" Here the girl stammered and broke down. "You wish, then, to confine our intercourse to a purely business relation?" asked Mrs. Cheyne, and her voice had a tone of the old bitterness. "Would it not be better under the circumstances? Forgive me if I am too proud, but----" "Oh, you are proud, terribly proud!" returned Mrs. Cheyne, taking up her words before she could complete her sentence. "You owe me a grudge for what I said that night, and now you are making me pay the penalty. Well, I am not meek: there is not a human being living to whom I would sue for friendship. If I were starving for a kind word, I would sooner die than ask for one. You see, I am proud too, Miss Challoner." "Oh, I did not mean to hurt you," returned Phillis, distressed at this, but determined not to yield an inch or bend to the sudden caprice of this extraordinary woman, who had made her suffer so once. "To be hurt, one must have feelings," returned this singular person. "Do not be afraid, I shall not attempt to shake your resolution: if you come to me now it must be of your own free will." "And if I come, what then?" asked Phillis, standing very straight and stiff, for she would not be patronized.