"Good-by!"
She could not lift her eyes to his face, but from the top of the steps she was tempted to look back. He stood where she had left him, his hand resting on her saddle, his head bent, and there was something in his attitude which sent her hurrying into the house without a second glance.
She found her mother waiting for her in her room, whither she fled to be alone and undisturbed to fight and stamp out the pain that was aching in her heart. Mrs. Cary, wonderfully curled and powdered, received her daughter with unusual rapture.
"My dear!" she exclaimed, kissing Beatrice on both cheeks, "I am so glad you have come back early! Captain Stafford is here, and has something for you—I shouldn't be surprised if it was a ring, you lucky child! Did I not tell you he was the very husband for you? He has been telling me all about Lois and Travers. Everybody is quite pleased about it. Now hurry up and make yourself pretty. Why, what's the matter? You look so—so queer!"
Beatrice pushed past her mother and, going to the table, flung herself down as though exhausted.
"It's nothing," she muttered. "Tell—John I can't see him. I'm tired—ill—anything you like."
"Beaty, I won't do anything of the sort. What has happened? Is it that horrid Rajah? Did you tell him?"
"Yes."
"And he made a scene, my poor Beaty?"
"No."