"But why on earth should he wish to spite Rachel?"
"That is what I want you to tell me. You were in the house with them—try and think of all that happened just before the ball. I'm certain something was wrong between them, to begin with. Perhaps you did not notice it at the time, but you might remember little circumstances—" Mrs. Reade broke off, and watched her mother's disturbed face with bright attentiveness. "Rachel did not flirt with anybody, did she?"
"Now, my dear, you know the child is incapable of such a thing."
"Oh, I don't mean deliberately, of course. But she might do it accidentally, with those sentimental eyes of hers. And she is so charmingly pretty!"
"No, she certainly did not flirt," said Mrs. Hardy; "she has never given him any uneasiness on that score, pretty as she is, and never will, I am quite sure. But there was a man——"
"Ah!" sighed Mrs. Reade, laying her parasol across her knees, and folding her hands resignedly.
"Why do you say 'ah,' Beatrice, before you hear what I am going to tell you? There was a man there whom Mr. Kingston disliked very much. He gave himself airs, and they somehow came into collision, and Mr. Kingston was in rather a bad temper. That was all that went wrong before the ball, and Rachel had nothing to do with that."
"Do you think so? I am certain she had," the young lady replied deliberately.
"Well, if you think you know better than I do, who was there to see——"
"Go on, dear mamma. Tell me all about him. Who was he? What was he like?"