"Are you sure of this, Arthur? If so, I must ring for Phillis at once."
"Oh don't--please don't. Phillis will on'y fly into a passion and beat
her--poor Titia! I'm very sorry I told of her. I wouldn't be a sneak if
I could help it."
"My dear boy!" said Christian, fondly. "Well, I will not speak about it
just yet, and certainly not to Phillis. Lie here till I see if Titia is
still in the nursery. It is just five o'clock."
Yes, there the little damsel was, sitting as prim as possible over a book,
looking the picture of industry and innocence.
"Miss Bennett has left for the day, has she not, Titia? You are not
going out with her, or going out again at all?"
"No," said Titia, with her head bent down.
It was always Christian's belief--and practice--that to accuse a child,
unproved, of telling a lie, was next to suggesting that lies should be
told. She always took truth for granted until she had unequivocal
evidence to the contrary.
"Very well," she said, kindly. "Is that a nice book you have? 'Arabian
Nights?' Then sit and read it quietly till you go to bed. Good-night, my
dear."
She kissed her, which was always a slight effort; it was hard work
loving Titia, who was so cold and prim, and unchildlike, with so little
responsiveness in her nature.
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