I thought sure they'd come
yesterday."
"He was busy," Phebe said curtly, as she took off her sailor hat and
fanned herself.
"Jim Sykes said he see him drivin' off over Wisdom way."
"Yes, he had a case there, an important case." Phebe's head was tilted at
an aggressive angle.
"I guess I was some important, or he'd have said so, if he'd see me, last
night. I had a bad spell, and like to fainted."
"What had you been eating?" Phebe inquired, with a sudden access of
professional severity.
"Be you his youngest girl?" Mrs. Richardson asked rather irrelevantly.
"Yes."
"The one that was in Paris?"
"Yes."
"I wonder at your father's lettin' you go. They say it's an awful wicked
city, and I hear it's nip and tuck whether a person comes home as good as
she went."
"I didn't find it so."
"Maybe not. Still, it's risky and I don't think much of folks that don't
find America good enough for 'em. You look hot. Come in and get a drink
of water."
Inside the house and with a glass of water in her hand, Phebe felt that
it devolved upon her to make some efforts at conversation.
"You said you were worse, last night; didn't you? What were the
symptoms?" she asked, between her sips.
"What's generally the symptoms? I felt sick and wanted to keel over."
"Had you been--?"
"No; I hadn't. You tell your father that I'll tell him about it, when he
comes.
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