His mother came to admire. Another print was produced, and another, and Fred and Beatrice were eagerly studying the elaborate engravings of the old German, when Alex, annoyed at finding her too much engrossed to have a word for him, came to share their occupation, and took up one of the prints with no practised hand. “Take care, Alex, take care,” cried Beatrice, in a sort of excruciated tone; “don’t you see what a pinch you are giving it! Only the initiated ought to handle a print: there is a pattern for you,” pointing to Fred.
She cut right and left: both looked annoyed, and retreated from the table. Fred thinking how Alex must look down on fingers which possessed any tenderness; Alex provoked at once and pained. Queen Bee’s black eyes perceived their power, and gave a flash of laughing triumph.
But Beatrice was not quite in her usual high spirits, for she was very sorry to leave her mother; and when they went up stairs for the night, she stood long over the fire talking to her, and listening to certain parting cautions.
“How I wish you could have come, mamma! I am so sure that grandmamma in her kindness will tease Aunt Mary to death. You are the only person who can guard her without affronting grandmamma. Now I—”
“Had better let it alone,” rejoined Mrs. Geoffrey Langford. “You will do more harm than by letting things take their course. Remember, too, that Aunt Mary was at home there long before you or I knew the place.”
“Oh, if that tiresome Aunt Amelia would but have had some consideration! To go out of town and leave Aunt Susan on our hands just when we always go home!”
“We have lamented that often enough,” said her mother smiling. “It is unlucky, but it cannot be too often repeated, that wills and wishes must sometimes bend.”
“You say that for me, mamma,” said Beatrice. “You think grandmamma and I have too much will for each other.”
“If you are conscious of that, Bee, I hope that you will bend that wilful will of yours.”
“I hope I shall,” said Beatrice, “but.... Well, I must go to bed. Good night, mamma.”