"And I begged very hard for permission, but mamma thought it better not to interrupt your music and painting lessons again so soon. It is a great disappointment to you not to go, isn't it? At first I thought I would not tell you anything about it."
"Ah, but I am glad you told me," said Rachel; "for I must send a message to Lucilla to thank her. She knows how I loved to be at Adelonga—I think it is the sweetest place in the wide world."
"I wish I could take you," said Mrs. Reade; "but——"
"Oh, no, Beatrice, I cannot go, I know. Indeed, I would rather not. I would rather stay with Aunt Elizabeth, and go on with my lessons."
Mrs. Reade was considerably astonished and disconcerted by this evidently genuine sentiment. There was something in so ready a relinquishment of the pleasures of Adelonga, which had always been so great, and also in the tremulous eagerness with which the girl put the proposal from her—a proposal which Mrs. Reade had feared would be cruelly tantalising at this time; but it was not immediately apparent.
Rachel could not stand the silent scrutiny of her cousin's brilliant eyes. Blushing violently, she rose from the couch on which she had been sitting, and rested her arms on the window-sill, and looked out upon the sombre pine trees that stood perfectly motionless in the golden summer air.
"Do you see how that house is getting on?" she said, breaking an awkward pause. "The walls are simply rushing up. They will be ready for the roof directly."
Mrs. Reade stood on tiptoe and peeped over her shoulder.
"I wonder you have the heart to look at it," she replied.
"Oh, Beatrice!"