And so a terrible unrest pervaded the whole household after the receipt of Jaspar Bellew's note. Nobody was told anything, yet everybody knew there was something; and each after his fashion, down to the very dogs, betrayed their sympathy with the master and mistress of the house.
Day after day the girls wandered about the new golf course knocking the balls aimlessly; it was all they could do. Even Cecil Tharp, who had received from Bee the qualified affirmative natural under the circumstances, was infected. The off foreleg of her grey mare was being treated by a process he had recently discovered, and in the stables he confided to Bee that the dear old Squire seemed “off his feed;” he did not think it was any good worrying him at present. Bee, stroking the mare's neck, looked at him shyly and slowly.
“It's about George,” she said; “I know it's about George! Oh, Cecil! I do wish I had been a boy!”
Young Tharp assented in spite of himself:
“Yes; it must be beastly to be a girl.”
A faint flush coloured Bee's cheeks. It hurt her a little that he should agree; but her lover was passing his hand down the mare's shin.
“Father is rather trying,” she said. “I wish George would marry.”
Cecil Tharp raised his bullet head; his blunt, honest face was extremely red from stooping.
“Clean as a whistle,” he said; “she's all right, Bee. I expect George has too good a time.”
Bee turned her face away and murmured: