'I thought, perhaps, you mightn't--as he's been passing in London for an unmarried man.' There was a pause--a moment's dead silence.
'That, of course, is a lie!' said Phoebe at last, drawing in her breath--and then, restraining herself, 'or else a silly mistake.' 'It's no mistake at all,' said Bella, with a toss of the head.

'I thought you ought to know, and mother agreed with me.

The men are all alike.

There's a letter I got the other day from a friend of mine.' She drew a letter from a stringbag on her wrist, and handed it to Phoebe.
Phoebe made no motion to take it.

She stood rigid, her fierce, still look fixed on her visitor.
'You'd better,' said Bella; 'I declare you'd better.