"So vain, and so very—very plain," said the girl.
"Poor 'Tilda!" sighed Miss Squeers, compassionately.
"And always laying herself out so to get to be admired," pursued the servant. "Oh dear! It's positive indelicate."
"I can't allow you to talk in that way, Phib," said Miss Squeers. "'Tilda's friends are low people, and if she don't know any better, it's their fault, and not hers."
"Well, but you know, miss," said Phœbe, for which name "Phib " was used as a patronising abbreviation, "if she was only to take copy by a friend—oh! if she only knew how wrong she was, and would but set herself right by you, what a nice young woman she might be in time!"
"Phib," rejoined Miss Squeers, with a stately air, "it's not proper for me to hear these comparisons drawn; they make 'Tilda look a coarse improper sort of person, and it seems unfriendly in me to listen to them. I would rather you dropped the subject, Phib; at the same time I must say, that if 'Tilda Price would take pattern by somebody—not me particularly——"
"Oh yes; you miss," interposed Phib.
"Well, me Phib, if you will have it so," said Miss Squeers. "I must say that if she would, she would be all the better for it."
"So somebody else thinks, or I am much mistaken," said the girl mysteriously.
"What do you mean?" demanded Miss Squeers.
"Never mind, miss," replied the girl; "I know what I know, that's all."
"Phib," said Miss Squeers dramatically, "I insist upon your explaining yourself. What is this dark mystery? Speak."
"Why, if you will have it, miss, it's this," said the servant girl. "Mr. John Browdie thinks as you think; and if he wasn't too far gone to do it creditable, he'd be very glad to be off with Miss Price, and on with Miss Squeers."
"Gracious Heavens!" exclaimed Miss Squeers, clasping her hands with great dignity. "What is this?"
"Truth, ma'am, and nothing but truth," replied the artful Phib.
"What a situation!" cried Miss Squeers; "on the brink. of unconsciously destroying the peace and happiness of my own 'Tilda. What is the reason that men fall in love with me, whether I like it or not, and desert their chosen intendeds for my sake!"
"Because they can't help it, miss," replied the girl; "the reason's plain." (If Miss Squeers were the reason, it was very plain.)
"Never let me hear of it again," retorted Miss Squeers. "Never; do you hear? 'Tilda Price has faults—many faults—but I wish her well, and above all I wish her married; for I think it highly desirable—most desirable from the very nature of her failings—that she should be married as soon as possible. No, Phib. Let her have Mr. Browdie. I may pity him poor fellow; but I have a great regard for 'Tilda, and only hope she may make a better wife than I think she will."
With this effusion of feeling Miss Squeers went to bed.
Spite is a little word; but it represents as strange a jumble of feelings and compound of discords, as any polysyllable in the language. Miss
