ly, to recover from himself. They told Gibson that
the one thing that spoiled it all (the joy, they meant, of their
intercourse with him) was the thought that Mary was "missing it."
Had Mary been there she would have had to have her share, her
fourth.

Presently he realized that Phoebe (he supposed because of her
superior determination) had effaced herself altogether. She was
always doing dreary things, he noticed, out of her turn. Then he
perceived a change in her. Little Phoebe, in consequence of all
the dreary things she did, was beginning to grow thin and pale. She
looked as though she wanted more of the tonic air of the cliffside.
She did still take her turn at climbing to the plateau and sitting
there all alone. But that, Gibson reflected, was after all, for
Phoebe, a very dreary thing to do.

One evening he took courage, and asked Phoebe to come for a walk
to the cliffside with him.

Phoebe did not answer all at once. She shrank, he could see, from
the enormity of having him all to herself.

"Go," said Effie, "it will do you worlds of good."

"_You_ go."

Effie laughed and shook her head.

"Come too, then. Mr. Gibson, say she's to come too."

"You know," said Effie, "it's my turn to stay with Father."

She said it severely, as if Phoebe had been trying unfairly to
deprive her of a privilege and a delight. They were delicious,
Phoebe and Effie, but it was Phoebe that he wanted this time.

They set out at a brisk pace that brought the blood to Phoebe's
cheeks and made her prettier than ever. Phoebe, of course, had
done her best to make her prettiness entirely unobtrusive. She wore
a muslin skirt and a tie, and a sailor hat that was not specially
becoming to her small head, and her serge skirt had to be both wide
and short because of pushing the bath-chair about through all kinds
of weather. But the sea wind caught her; it played with her hair;
it blew a little dark curl out of place to hang distractingly over
Phoebe's left ear; it blew the serge skirt tight about her limbs,
and showed him, in spite of Phoebe, how prettily Phoebe was
made.

"Why didn't you back me up?" said Phoebe. "She wanted to come all
the time."

He turned, as he walked, to look at her.

"Why didn't I back you up? Do you really want to know why?"

Whenever he took that tone Phoebe looked solemn and a little
frightened. She was frightened now, too frightened to answer him.

"Because," said he, "I wanted you all to myself."