IF HE SHOULD COME!
"BEE, I'm wondering—is it one-tenth, one-hundredth part as much to you as it is to me—my being here?"
The words broke into a long silence, rousing Beatrice out of her dream; by no means the first of the kind since Amy Smith's arrival two days before.
They were together in the little morning-room of Virginia Villa, sometimes called "The Green Room," because of its prevailing tint. It was a foggy afternoon, not tempting out-of-doors. Mrs. Major had an engagement, so the two were alone; and in the midst of a lengthy talk about "old days," Bee had dropped out of it, forgetting to answer Amy's last remark, leaning a little forward, her eyes fixed on the fire, lost in a vision, which seemed to be half-sad, half-glad, but certainly profound.
Amy knew that she herself had no share in this dream. Somebody else reigned there, and she was forgotten. She saw far more than Magda in her place would have seen. In her passionate devotion to Bee, she had accustomed herself to read each turn of expression, each inflection of voice. It was pathetic, this intensity of her love for the younger girl; for she paid away her whole self, and Bee could not give back an equivalent. Amy Smith, however estimable and good and unselfish—and in the main she was all these,—just did not possess that undefinable gift, the power to win great love. All that Bee was able to give in return was a kind and sincere affection.
Perhaps for the first time, as she sat gazing this afternoon upon Bee's absorbed face, Amy realised it. As the outcome of her troubled realisation, she broke into the above words. Bee, wrenched back to the present, lifted startled eyes.
"Why—of course—"
"There's no 'of course' in the matter. Are you glad to have me? Do you really care? Would it have been better, if I had not come? Tell me—truly. Shall I go back to-morrow?"
"Amy, what nonsense! How can you say such things?"
"Because I think them! Because I never have any secrets from you. Because I don't choose to live in a Fool's Paradise! There are fifty 'becauses,' any one of which will do. But most of all, because it is so much to me to be with you again; and I should like—foolishly, perhaps—selfishly no doubt—to be sure that you are the least little bit glad to be with me. Are you glad—honestly glad? I want the truth, please."