"But, my dear," interposed Mrs Latrobe, remonstratingly, "surely you cannot be surprised? When Mr Welles engaged himself to you, it was (as he thought) to the heiress of a large estate. You could not expect him to encumber himself with a wife who brought him less than one year's income of his own. 'Tis not reasonable, child. No man in his senses would do such a thing. We live in the world, my dear,--not in Utopia." "We live in a hard, cold, wicked, miserable world, and the sooner we are out of it the better!" came in a constrained voice from Rhoda. "I beg, my dear," answered Mrs Latrobe, "you will not make extravagant speeches. There might be not another man in the world, that you should go into such a frenzy. We shall yet find you a husband, never fear." "Not one like him, I hope!" murmured Phoebe. "And I don't think Rhoda wants anybody else." "Phoebe," said her mother, "I am extreme concerned at the coarseness of your speeches. I had hoped you were a gentlewoman." "Well, Mother," said Phoebe, firing up again, "if Mr Welles be a gentleman, I almost hope not!" "My dear," said Mrs Latrobe, "Mr Welles is a gentleman. The style in which he announced his desire to withdraw from his suit to your cousin, was perfect. A prince could not have done it better." "I should hope a prince would not have done it at all!" was the blunt response from Phoebe. "You are not a woman of the world, my dear, but a very foolish, ignorant child, that does not know properly what she is saying. 'Tis so near bed-time you need not descend again. You will get over your disappointment, Rhoda, when you have slept, and I shall talk with you presently. Good-night, my dears." And Mrs Latrobe closed the door, and left the cousins together. CHAPTER ELEVEN. PHOEBE IN A NEW CHARACTER. "We mend broken china, torn lace we repair; But we sell broken hearts cheap in Vanity Fair." "Did _she_ ever love anybody?" came in a low voice from Rhoda, when Mrs Latrobe had withdrawn, "Oh, I don't know!" sobbed Phoebe, who was crying violently, and might have seemed to a surface observer the more unhappy of the two. "Don't weep so," said Rhoda. "I'm sure you don't need. Aunt Anne will never be angry long--she does not care enough about anything to keep it up." "Oh, it is not for myself, Rhoda--poor Rhoda!" "For me? Surely not, Phoebe. I have never been so good to you as to warrant that." "I don't know whether you have been good to me or you have not, Cousin; but I am so sorry for you!" Phoebe was kneeling beside the bed. Rhoda came over to her, and kissed her forehead, and said--what was very much for Rhoda to say--"I scarce think I deserve you should weep for me, Phoebe." "But I can't help it!" said Phoebe. "Well! I reckon I should have known it," said Rhoda, in a rather hard tone. "I suppose that is what all men are like. But I did think he was true--I did!" "I never did," responded Phoebe.