"Indeed I wish you would."
"If Franklin had given me away he wouldn't have kicked that cane chair."
Brownie gave another gesture of despair. "If only you had it in you to take things seriously."
"Seriously! You dear old thing, I'm most serious. I have every reason to be. But that was a fine piece of deduction and my spirits have gone up with a rush. I'm now going to find Franklin, and I'll bet you a diamond bracelet that he has stood by me like a Trojan and is as angry as a caged hawk. Now, the all-important point is this: What hat shall I wear,—a simple, naïve, garden thing, or this sophisticated effort? I must please his eye."
"Wear the smart hat," said Mrs. Keene.
Beatrix wore the other. That almost went without saying.
She sang on her way down-stairs. She chose Santuzza's song from Cavalleria, which she ragged in the most masterly manner. She did this to give the impression, to anyone who might hear her, of light-heartedness. Her lithe, young, white-clad figure was reflected by many mirrors as she passed. She made sure that none of her people were in the hall, and then darted out to the veranda to look for Franklin. The members of the house-party had dispersed to pass the morning away in tennis and with the rehearsals for the pastoral. She could see a number of people under the trees to the left. She swung round the veranda, walking on the balls of her feet like a young Diana, singing as she went, but darting quick, anxious glances to the right and left. There was no sign of Franklin. She was about to make her way through the Dutch garden, all aflame with flowers, to the summer-house which overlooked the Sound shining beneath the sun, when a footman came out carrying one of her mother's petulant spaniels.
"Do you happen to know where Mr. Franklin is?" she asked, pulling up short.
"Yes, madam."
The word made her heart pump. "Well,—where?"