"Beaty!" she said stupidly. "Are you—crying?"
Beatrice turned on the music-stool and looked her mother calmly in the face. There was not a trace of emotion in the clear, steady eyes.
"I—crying?" she said. "What should have made you think that? Have you ever seen me cry?"
"No, never. I couldn't understand. You are all right?"
"Perfectly all right, thank you. Hadn't you better see about the tea?"
Mrs. Cary heaved a sigh of relief and satisfaction.
"Of course. How thoughtful you can be, my dear! The gentlemen may be back any moment."
She sailed heavily across the room, on her way passing the glass doors which opened on to the verandah.
"Why!" she exclaimed, stopping short, "if that isn't Captain Stafford mounting his horse! Look, Beaty! And he hasn't even come to say good-by."
Beatrice turned indifferently.