"Come, dear, tell me," continued Nan, with cheerful pertinacity. "You are never dull or touchy without some good reason. What has been the matter the last few days? Are you vexed or disappointed about anything? Are you sure--quite sure you are pleased about Dick?"--the idea occurring to her suddenly that Phillis might not approve of their imprudent engagement. "Oh, Nannie, how absurd you are!" returned Phillis, pettishly. "Have I not told you a dozen times since Wednesday how delighted I am that you have come to an understanding? Have I not sounded his praises until I was hoarse? Why, if I had been in love with Dick myself I could not have talked about him more." "Yes, I know you have been very good, dear; but still I felt there was something." "Oh, dear, no!" returned Phillis decidedly, and her voice was a little hard. "The fact is, you are in the seventh heaven yourself, and you expect us to be there too. Not that I wonder at you, Nannie, because Dick--dear old fellow--is ever so nice." She threw in this last clause not without intention, and of course the tempting bait took at once. "I never knew any one half so good," replied Nan, in a calmly satisfied tone. "You have hinted once or twice, Phil, that you thought him rather too young,--that our being the same age was a pity; but--do you know?--in Dick's case it does not matter in the least. No man double his age could have made his meaning more plain, or have spoken better to the purpose. He is so strong and self-reliant and manly: and with all his fun, he is so unselfish." "He will make you a very good husband, Nan; I am sure of that." "I think he will," returned Nan, with a far-away look in her eyes. She was recalling Dick's speech about the nest that he wanted to make cosey for some one. "Phil, dear," she went on, after this blissful pause, "I wish you had a Dick too." "Good Gracious, Nannie!" "I mean--you know what I mean,--some one to whom you are first, and who has a right to care for you; it gives such a meaning to one's life. Of course it will come in time; no one can look at you and not prophesy a happy future: it is only I who am impatient and want it to come soon." Phillis wrinkled her brows thoughtfully over this speech: she seemed inclined to digest and assimilate it. "I dare say you are right," she replied, after a pause. "Yes it would be nice, no doubt." "When the real _he_ comes, you will find how nice it is," rejoined Nan, with sympathetic readiness. "Do you know, Phil, the idea has once or twice occurred to me that Mr. Drummond comes rather often!" But here Phillis shook off her hand and started from her chair. "There is a moth singing its wings. Poor wee beastie! let me save it, if it be not too late." And she chased the insect most patiently until the blue-gray wings fluttered into her hand.