"Oh----" Phoebe drew a long, terrified breath.

There are many ways of saying "Oh," but Gibson had never, never in
his whole life heard any woman say it as Phoebe said it then. It
meant that she was staggered at anybody's having the temerity to
want anything all to himself.

"Do you think me very selfish?"

Phoebe assured him instantly that that had never been her idea of
him.

"Shall I tell you who is selfish?"

Phoebe's little mouth hardened. She was so dreadfully afraid that
he was going to say "Your father."

"You," he said, "you."

"I'm afraid I am," said she. "It's so hard not to be."

He stood still in his astonishment, so that she had to stand still,
too.

"Of course it's hard not to give up things, when you like giving
them up. But your sister likes giving them up, too, and it's selfish
of you to prevent her, isn't it?"

"Oh, but you don't know what it's been--Effie's life and Mary's."

"And yours----"

"Oh, no, I'm happy enough. I'm the youngest."

"You mean you've had a year or two less of it."

"Yes. They never told me, for fear of making me unhappy, when
Father's illness came."

"How long ago was that?"

"Five years ago. I was at school."

He made a brief calculation. During the two years of his married
life Phoebe had been a child at school.

"And two years," said Phoebe, "is a long time to be happy in."

"Yes," he said, "it's a long time."

"And then," she went on presently, "I'm so much stronger than Effie
and Mary."

"Not strong enough to go dragging that abominable bath-chair about."

"Not strong enough? Look----"

She held out her right arm for him to look at; under her muslin
blouse he saw its tense roundness, and its whiteness through the
slit above her wrist.

His heart stirred in him. Phoebe's arms were beautiful, and they
were strong to help.

"I wish," he said, "I could make it better for you."

"Oh, but you _have_ made it better for us. You can't think what a
difference you've made."

"Have I? Have I?"

"Yes. Effie said so only the other day. She wrote it to Mary. And
Mary says it's a shame she can't be here. It is, you know. It makes
us feel so mean having you all to ourselves like this."

He laughed. He laughed whenever he thought of it. There was nobody
who could say things as Phoebe said them.

"I wish," said she, "you knew Mary. You'd like her so."

"I'm sure I should if she's at all like you."

(Her innocence sheltered him, made him bold.)