For a moment Bessie said nothing more; then at last, “And don’t you intend to write to—to Mr. Beaumont?” she inquired.
Her sister waited with a look at her. “You mean to Lord Lambeth.”
“I said Mr. Beaumont because he was—at Newport—so good a friend of yours.”
Mrs. Westgate prolonged the attitude of sisterly truth. “I don’t really care two straws for Mr. Beaumont.”
“You were certainly very nice to him.”
“I’m very nice to every one,” said Mrs. Westgate simply.
Nothing indeed could have been simpler save perhaps the way Bessie smiled back: “To every one but me.”
Her sister continued to look at her. “Are you in love with Lord Lambeth?”
Our young woman stared a moment, and the question was too unattended with any train even to make her shy. “Not that I know of.”
“Because if you are,” Mrs. Westgate went on, “I shall certainly not send for him.”