“That’s disgusting!” she said darkly. “No matter what he is, they haven’t a right to meddle in people’s private affairs that way and print it all out before the public!”
She did not eat any more breakfast. She began hurriedly to prepare for the office. Her mother watched her anxiously. Could it be possible that Bessie was still thinking about Murray? If so, she was glad she had happened on the item. She ought to understand fully just what he was. That item about the Countess, of course, might not be anything but a bit of venom from a jealous rival. But she was glad she had read it.
“Bessie,” she began anxiously, as the girl went to the hall closet for her rubbers, “are you sure you are warmly enough dressed for this stormy day?”
“Mother,” said the girl crisply, “don’t you think it would be a good thing if you began to call me Elizabeth now?”
There was a grown-up pucker on the white brow as if the child were feeling her years. The wise mother looked up quickly and smiled, sensing the feeling of annoyance that had come upon her since the reading of this item about her old friend. How her mother heart understood and sympathized. Another mother might have felt hurt, but not this one, who had companioned with her child all the way, and understood every lifting of a lash, every glint in the deep blue of her eyes, every shade of expression on the dear face.
“Well, maybe,” she agreed pleasantly, “I used to wonder whether we wouldn’t be sorry we had nicknamed you. I don’t know if I ever could get used to Elizabeth now. Bessie was a sweet little name when we called you that. It just fitted you!” There was a wistfulness in her voice that reached through the clouds on her daughter’s spirit.
“You dear little mother, you needn’t ever try. So it is a sweet little name, and I don’t ever want to change it. I wouldn’t like you to say ‘Elizabeth’ anyway. It would sound as if you were scolding. Now, I’m not cross any more. Good-bye, mother dearie, and don’t you even dare to think Elizabeth while I’m gone.”
She kissed her mother tenderly and was gone, but all day the mother turned it over in her mind. Had it been wrong that she took that little lonely boy in years ago and let him be her daughter’s playmate for a while? Was it going to make a blight on her bright spirit after all this time? No. Surely it was only a bit of pride that was hurt, not her sweet, strong spirit!
But the girl thought about it all day long. Could not get away from that bit of news in the society column. Was Murray really missing? What had become of him? Didn’t they really know where he was? Could he be in a hospital unconscious somewhere? Oughtn’t she perhaps to do something about it? What could she do? By night she had fully decided that she would do something.