"It is a very horrible one," said Beatrice, rising in her turn.
Lady Watson burst into tears. "It is not my fault," she sobbed. "I'm sure, in spite of Reginald's objections, I would have kept you beside me; only Durban took you away, and Amelia also, because she wanted to marry a rich man, as Alpenny was supposed. They knew too much; I had to yield; and then Reginald thought you were dead. But I have always loved and longed for my pretty baby. Kiss me, darling!"
"No," said Beatrice sternly.
The little woman looked up aghast. "Your own mother?"
"I do not look upon you as my mother," said the girl coldly. "You deserted me in the most heartless manner. I don't know how much of your story is true----"
"It is all true--I swear it."
"It may be, and you may be innocent. But to see my father lying dead, and not give the alarm, was wicked. The assassin might have been caught and----"
"I would have been caught!" cried Lady Watson vehemently. "As it was, people thought that I had something to do with the horrid thing. I was quite innocent," she protested, sobbing. "Beatrice!"
Her voice rose to a scream as the girl walked to the door for the second time. "I am going," said Beatrice quietly. "You must give me time to think over our new relationship. I'll see you again soon."
"Oh!" wailed Lady Watson, as the door closed on the daughter who rejected her; "how like your father--how very like!"