"But, Bessie," said Phebe, "it is not kind, when you know the poor thing cannot help her singular ways." But it was too rich a bit of description for Bessie to let drop quickly, and she went on waving her arms in a dramatic manner. Just at the moment Phebe was taking a cup of tea from Mrs. Marchant, Bessie was exclaiming, "She perfectly waltzed up to Reynolds," when, lo! with a backward wave of her hand, she caused the cup with its contents to fall into Phebe's lap. [Illustration: "SHE CAUSED THE CUP, WITH ITS CONTENTS, TO FALL INTO PHEBE'S LAP."] In a moment there seemed a tempest in the room. Reynolds exclaimed, "Now you've done something!" Nanna screwed her lips up so tightly that only a little "Oh" came out. "Oh, mummy, your French dress!" cried out young Jack. Mrs. Marchant sprang to her feet and made a dash over the table as though she was going to box Bessie's ears. The table, however, being too broad she sank back into her chair, exclaiming: "There never, never was such a provoking girl, never! You may thank your stars, young madam, this did not happen in your own home!" Phebe was the only quiet one in the company. She had placed the empty cup-and-saucer on the table, and as she stood up, the tea streaming down the front of her dress on to the floor, she said, in a calm, low voice, "Pray, Mrs. Marchant, do not trouble about it, I can soon change my dress," but before moving away she bent down and kissed Bessie, who was sitting gazing fixedly at the havoc she had made. The kiss seemed to waken her, and she exclaimed, as the tears streamed down her face, "What shall I do? What shall I do?" "Do!" exclaimed Mrs. Marchant--"get some more sense into your head, that's what you should do, and drop all your wretched, nonsensical ways." When Phebe returned Nanna had wisely arranged that she and Mrs. Marchant should finish their tea alone. Mrs. Marchant's first words were: "Now I know that what our Phill said was true." "What was that, Mrs. Marchant?" "That you possess something I don't. If I had had a dress like that spoilt I should have gone into a towering passion, I know I should. But to see you taking it all so calmly, fairly staggered me. Tell me what it is that makes this difference between us?" Mrs. Marchant's voice was quite eager, and she looked beseechingly into Phebe's face. "Perhaps several things," said Phebe, after a moment's hesitation; "I have trained myself not to get into flurries if I can help it, for they never accomplish anything. Then I knew Bessie was grieved enough without me adding one word more. But the chief thing is--shall I tell you?--do you really want to know?" "Yes, I do, for I long to be like you." There was a catch in her voice that quite went to Phebe's heart. "My first thought was, Jesus is here, and He would not like to see me agitated over such a little thing." "Jesus!" "Yes,--Jesus." "Oh." There was a world of meaning in that one word.