"What is rather funny?"
"Oh, well, you, you know. Fancy you as a missionary! I must tell Mrs.
Berry. It will amuse her, and—"
She stopped again, as though she had inadvertently trodden on the tail of a scorpion. She had seen Beatrice angry, but not as now. There was something not unlike desperation in the eyes that were suddenly turned on her.
"You won't tell Mrs. Berry, mother. You will never breathe a word to a single soul of what I have told you. It was very absurd of me to say anything—I don't know what made me. I might have known that you would not understand—but sometimes I forget that 'mother' is not a synonym for everything."
Mrs. Cary smarted under what she felt to be an unjust and uncalled-for attack.
"I don't see what I have done now," she protested indignantly. "What is there to understand that I haven't understood, pray?"
Her daughter got up as though she could no longer bear to remain still, and began to walk restlessly about the room.
"Never mind," she said. "That doesn't matter. What does matter is that I will not have the Rajah made a butt for the Station's witticisms. You can say what you like about me—I don't care in the least—but you will leave him alone."
"Dear me, what are you so annoyed about?" Mrs. Cary inquired, with irritating solicitude. "How was I to know you were seriously contemplating the Rajah's conversion? I'm sure it's very nice of you. Child, don't pull all those roses to pieces!"
Beatrice dropped the flowers impatiently.