But the face of Beatrice turned to an ashen hue as she marked the effect which the mention of that name had produced on Brandon. He had been looking at his plate like one involved in thought. As he heard the name his head fell forward, and he caught at the table to steady himself. He then rose abruptly with a cloud upon his brow, his lips firmly pressed together, and his whole face seemingly transformed, and hurried from the cabin.
She did not see him again for a week. He pleaded illness, shut himself in his state-room, and was seen by no one but Cato.
Beatrice could not help associating this change in Brandon with the knowledge of her name. That name was hateful to herself. A fastidious taste had prevented her from volunteering to tell it; and as no one asked her directly it had not been known. And now, since she had told it, this was the result.
For Brandon’s conduct she could imagine only one cause. He had felt shocked at such a plebeian name.
The fact that she herself hated her name, and saw keenly how ridiculously it sounded after such a name as Beatrice, only made her feel the more indignant with Brandon. “His own name,” she thought, bitterly, “is plebeian—not so bad as mine, it is true, yet still it is plebeian. Why should he feel so shocked at mine?” Of course, she knew him only as “Mr. Wheeler.” “Perhaps he has imagined that I had some grand name, and, learning my true one, has lost his illusion. He formerly esteemed me. He now despises me.”
Beatrice was cut to the heart; but she was too proud to show any feeling whatever. She frequented the quarter-deck as before; though now she had no companion except, at turns, the good-natured Captain and the mate. The longer Brandon avoided her the more indignant she felt. Her outraged pride made sadness impossible.
Brandon remained in his state-room for about two weeks altogether. When at length he made his appearance on the quarter-deck he found Beatrice there, who greeted him with a distant bow.
There was a sadness in his face as he approached and took a seat near her which at once disarmed her, drove away all indignation, and aroused pity.
“You have been sick,” she said, kindly, and with some emotion.
“Yes,” said Brandon, in a low voice, “but now that I am able to go about again my first act is to apologize to you for my rudeness in quitting the table so abruptly as to make it seem like a personal insult to you. Now I hope you will believe me when I say that an insult to you from me is impossible. Something like a spasm passed over my nervous system, and I had to hurry to my room.”