"Mother thinks them delightful," she said.
"Oh, they are. I've been twice to tea lately, and I'm going again to-morrow—to help Mrs. Miles with some work. And only think, Bee—she is a cousin of that Mr. Ivor who fell into the chasm last summer. And he is coming to pay them a visit."
Bee, taken by surprise, sent up a startled glance, and flushed brightly. She so seldom changed colour, that Magda came to a stop, with arrested attention.
"Is he? How curious!"
"Why—curious? Quite natural that he should come, if they are cousins."
"Yes. I meant, it is curious that they should be related."
"Mrs. Miles is very fond of him. She says he is such a good fellow—always so kind and thoughtful about other people, and he never minds what trouble he takes to help anybody. She has always been his favourite cousin—a sort of elder sister, because he never had any sisters of his own. She must be a good many years older than he is."
"She will be very pleased to have him." Bee spoke the words quietly, but she did not feel quiet. Her pulse and her thoughts were running riot together.
Was he coming—could he be coming—because he knew that she was here? Did he care—ever so little—for seeing her again? No—no—she answered resolutely—no chance of such a thing! He had given her no reason whatever to think so, when they were together. He had made no effort to see more of her. He had shown no particular feeling beyond simple gratitude for what she had done. She might not allow herself to indulge in dreams. Yet, even as she so replied, the eager questioning leapt up anew, asking with insistent loudness—was it, was it, quite impossible that he might find a pleasure in meeting her once more? She had tried so hard not to dwell upon recollections of him, and had counted herself successful on the whole. Yet now, at the first mention of his name, at the mere thought of seeing his face, she was stirred to the depths.
"Bee, what are you thinking about? You have such a colour! I never saw you look so pretty."