"I don't suppose we shall see much of them," was Nan's somewhat depressed reply; and then, as they had finished their tea they placed themselves at the open window, and began to talk about the business of next day; and, in discussing cupboards and new papers, Nan forgot her fatigue, and grew so interested that it was quite late before they thought of retiring to rest.
Nan overslept herself, and was rather late the next morning; but as she entered the parlor, with an exclamation of penitence for her tardiness, she found her little speech was addressed to the empty walls. A moment after, a shadow crossed the window, and Phillis came in.
She went up to Nan and kissed her, and there was a gleam of fun in her eyes.
"Oh, you lazy girl!" she said; "leaving me all the hard work to do. Do you know, I have been around to the Library, and have had it all out with Miss Milner; and in the Steyne I met the clergyman again, and--would you believe it; he looked quite disappointed because you were not there!"
"Nonsense!" returned Nan, sharply. She never liked this sort of joking speeches: they seemed treasonable to Dick.
"Oh, but he did," persisted Phillis, who was a little excited and reckless after her morning's work. "He threw me a disparaging glance, which said, as plainly as possible, 'Why are you not the other one?' That comes from having a sister handsomer than one's self."
"Oh, Phillis! when people always think you so nice, and when you are so clever!"
Phillis got up and executed a little courtesy in the prettiest way, and then she sank down upon her chair in pretended exhaustion.
"What I have been through! But I have come out of it alive. Confess, now, there's a dear, that you could not have done it!"
"No; indeed," with an alarmed air. "Do you really mean to say that you actually told Miss Milner what we meant to do?"
"I told her everything. There, sit down and begin your breakfast, Nan, or we shall never be ready. I found her alone in the shop. Thank goodness, that Miss Masham was not there. I have taken a dislike to that simpering young person, and would rather make a dress for Mrs. Squails any day than for her. I told her the truth, without a bit of disguise. Would you believe it, the good creature actually cried about it! she quite upset me too. 'Such young ladies! dear, dear: one does not often see such,' she kept saying over and over again. And then she put out her hand and stroked my dress, and said, 'Such a beautiful fit, too; and to think you have made it yourself! such a clever young lady! Oh, dear! whatever will Mr. Drummond and Miss Mattie say?' Stupid old thing! as though we cared what he said!"