It oozed out slowly that the fair face, so much admired, had suffered more than was at first expected; and that she would in all probability never regain her old loveliness. This fear was still carefully guarded from Patricia herself, though she had begun to suspect, and to put many disquieting questions.
"She has cared so much for her beauty," murmured Bee. "If that goes, she will have nothing left. Mother, it is sad."
"I suppose it sounds rather hard to say—just now—that if she went through life caring for nothing but her own looks, that would be sadder still," Mrs. Major remarked.
Bee felt that it did sound rather hard—just then!—however true. She could only think tenderly of Patricia's feelings when she should learn her loss.
Everybody was talking about Bee's heroism, though Bee herself made nothing of it.
"Why, how could I do anything else?" she asked, when admiration was openly expressed. "Of course I had to try. And the curtain being close at hand made things so easy."
It had lain closer still to Magda! But about that nothing was said, at least in her hearing. Few quite realised what her position had been. Few perhaps knew that she had actually run away; and some who did seemed to think it quite natural. But Bee had suddenly developed into a heroine, going about with bandaged hands, unable to endure a touch or to do anything for herself, yet radiant in her new happiness.
Merryl too came in for praise, only second in degree to that which was showered upon Bee. For it was she who had kept her wits, and had rushed to the help of Bee. But for the jug of water, promptly procured and used, Bee might have suffered much more severely. Mr. Royston was exceedingly proud of his "little girl," as he still called her, and he could talk for days of nothing else.
And Magda, looking on at all this, felt bitterly regretful and very unhappy.
For, whatever other people might think, she saw—she knew—she realised. She had had her longed-for chance in life, and had failed to use it. She was humbled in her own eyes.