"Indeed, nothing will make me think otherwise than I know," said Mrs. Vincent, with a voice which extinguished Phoebe. "I understand my son. He does not bestow his confidence very easily; and I am sure he is quite able to manage all the matters he may have in hand," added the widow, not without significance. Not all her anxiety for Arthur, not all her personal wretchedness, could unwoman the minister's mother so much as to make her forgive or overlook Phoebe's presumption. She could not have let this pretendant to her son's affections off without transfixing her with a passing arrow. Human endurance has its limits. Mrs. Vincent could bear anything for Arthur except this pretence of a special interest in him. "Oh, I am sure I never meant----!" faltered Phoebe; but she could get no further, and even her mother did not come to the rescue. "Them things had much best not be talked of," said Mrs. Tozer, sharply. "Mr. Beecher is coming in to have a bit of dinner. You mightn't have things comfortable where you are, the minister being away, and you used to your own house. Won't you come in with us and eat a bit of dinner? I never can swallow a morsel when I'm by myself. It's lonesome for you in them rooms, and us so near. There ain't no ceremony nor nonsense, but we'll be pleased if you'll come." "Thank you very much," said Mrs. Vincent, who could not forget that the cherry-coloured bonnet had nodded during Mr. Beecher's sermon, "but I slept badly last night. At my time of life a new bed often makes one sleepless, and I have a bad headache. I think I will go and lie down. Many thanks. It is very kind of you to ask me. I hope I shall see you," said the widow, with a slight shiver, repeating her formula, "to-morrow." "You can't take us amiss," said Mrs. Tozer; "there's always enough for an extra one, if it isn't grand or any ceremony; or if you'll come to tea and go to church with us at night? Phoebe can run over and see how you find yourself. Good mornin'. I'm sorry you'll not come in." "Oh, I wish you would let me go with you and nurse you," said Phoebe, not without a glance in the other direction at the approaching form of the young man from 'Omerton, "I am so frightened you don't like me!--but I'll come over before tea, and sit with you if your headache is not better. If I could only make you fancy I was Miss Vincent!" said Phoebe, with pink pleading looks.