It took it in the most unexpected manner.
'Your candid avowal,' it said, 'removes my last scruple.

I will tell you my story.' 'And you won't vanish, or anything sudden will you?
asked Anthea, anxiously.
'Why ?' it asked, puffing out the golden feathers, 'do you wish me to stay here ?' 'Oh YES,' said every one, with unmistakable sincerity.
'Why ?' asked the Phoenix again, looking modestly at the table-cloth.
'Because,' said every one at once, and then stopped short; only Jane added after a pause, 'you are the most beautiful person we've ever seen.' 'You are a sensible child,' said the Phoenix, 'and I will NOT vanish or anything sudden.

And I will tell you my tale.

I had resided, as your book says, for many thousand years in the wilderness, which is a large, quiet place with very little really good society, and I was becoming weary of the monotony of my existence.

But I acquired the habit of laying my egg and burning myself every five hundred years--and you know how difficult it is to break yourself of a habit.' 'Yes,' said Cyril; 'Jane used to bite her nails.' 'But I broke myself of it,' urged Jane, rather hurt, 'You know I did.' 'Not till they put bitter aloes on them,' said Cyril.
'I doubt,' said the bird, gravely, 'whether even bitter aloes (the aloe, by the way, has a bad habit of its own, which it might well cure before seeking to cure others; I allude to its indolent practice of flowering but once a century), I doubt whether even bitter aloes could have cured ME.