Somebody turned the handle of her door—in vain. Bee held her breath. She guessed it to be Amy; and she did not want Amy. She wanted nobody,—Amy least of all. Now that she had let herself go, she could not regain the dropped reins.
"If Amy comes, I shall show her—I can't help it!" she muttered despairingly.
Again the handle rattled, and a tap was followed by—
"Please, Bee—please!"
Bee moved nearer to the door, and said in a distinct tone—
"Good-night."
"I want to speak to you."
"No use. I'd rather not. It is too late."
"You are not in bed yet."
"I shall be—soon."