"What put that into your head?" "As an independent orphan, I am insulted at Madam St. Cymon's."
"By whom?" His eyes flashed.
"No matter now, sir."
"By whom? I ask you."
"Not by Pauline. She would scorn to be guilty of anything so ungenerous."
"You do not mean to answer my question, then?"
"No, sir. Do not ask me to do so, for I cannot."
"Very well. Get ready for tea. Mr. Lockhart is here. One word more.
You need fear no further interference from anyone."
He walked on, and, glad to be released, Beulah hastened to her own room, with a strange feeling of joy on entering it again. Harriet welcomed her warmly, and, without alluding to her absence, assisted in braiding the heavy masses of hair, which required arranging. Half an hour after, Dr. Hartwell knocked at the door, and conducted her downstairs. Mrs. Chilton rose and extended her hand, with an amicable expression of countenance for which Beulah was not prepared. She could not bring herself to accept the hand, but her salutation was gravely polite.
"Good-evening, Mrs. Chilton."