"I suppose not, if—if you don't mind. But—only—" Magda spoke disjointedly, fidgeting with a cushion-tassel. "Only—you know—one does feel horrid sometimes; and Frip told me she had told you—and of course—though I really didn't mean to be unkind—"
"When didn't you?"
"You know. You heard what Frip said. And I suppose you would have liked to come—and I ought to have known. And I dare say I did know, really—only one can't always decide rightly, just in a moment. Well—if I'm to make a clean breast of it—I didn't want you that evening, Bee. There! It's out!"
"But why?"
"I liked talking to Mr. Ivor. He was so jolly and amusing. And on the whole I rather thought he liked talking with me. He is Rob's friend, you see. And he somehow sort of made me able to talk—you know! As some people can, and only a few. And I wanted it over again. And I knew I should have no chance if you, were there. He would only have cared to talk with you."
Magda was not looking up, as she jerked out her little confession. Had she been, she could not have failed to see the swift flash of response in Bee's face. It was quickly subdued, and Bee asked mildly—
"Why?"
"My dear, you're dull to-day. You don't seem to understand anything. Why, of course—because you are you! He would be after you fast enough, if you would let him. You can be stiff—most people can, I suppose. But everybody says how pretty you are, and how taking. It's not like Patricia's prettiness. Quite a different sort of thing. But I couldn't help noticing that afternoon, when Mr. Ivor came to call here—though he and I were talking a lot, his eyes kept going back and back to you, as if he couldn't help it; and twice he didn't hear what I was saying."
"I didn't see!"
"Well, anyhow, I did. I declare, Bee, you are looking oceans better than when I came in. You were so white."