It was so asserting that Phronsie lifted her
head to look into the face of Mrs. Chatterton, standing before her,
playing with the rings on her long white hands, and regarding her as if
she would soon require an explanation of such strange conduct.
"What are you doing, Phronsie?" at last demanded the lady.
"Thinking," said Phronsie; and she laid her chin in her hand, and slowly
turned her gaze upon the thin, disagreeable face before her, but not as
if in the slightest degree given up to a study of its lines and
expression.
"So I perceive," said Mrs. Chatterton harshly. "Well, and what are you
thinking of, pray tell?"
Still Phronsie looked beyond her, and it was not until the question had
been repeated, that an answer came.
"Of many things," said Phronsie, "but I do not think I ought to tell
you."
"And why not, pray?" cried the lady, with a short and most unpleasant
laugh.
"Because I do not think you would understand them," said Phronsie. And
now she looked at the face she had before overlooked, with a deliberate
scrutiny as if she would not need to repeat the attention.
"Indeed!" exclaimed Mrs. Chatterton angrily, "and pray how long since
your thoughts have been so valuable?"
"My thoughts are nice ones," said Phronsie slowly, "because they are
about nice people.
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