Her father hesitated a moment, then, catching sight of her expression, he crossed the room to her side, and putting his hand under her chin, raised her face gently and looked into her eyes.
"Aren't you going to kiss me too?" he asked.
Bee's eyes filled, and she was unable to speak, as was always the case when she was deeply moved. He waited, wondering at her silence, when all at once he spoke with a quick intake of his breath:
"There is a look of your mother about you tonight, Beatrice. I never noticed it before. Child, child,—"
He withdrew his hand from her chin, turned, and quitted the room abruptly.
"What made him do that?" cried Adele. "Doesn't he like you yet, Bee?"
But Bee's eyes were shining through her tears.
"He said that I looked like my mother," she breathed. "Oh, Adele! Did you hear him?"
"Well, what of it? I don't see anything so wonderful in that. Everyone says that I am the perfect image of mamma. It would be natural for you to look like your mother."
"But he loved her dearly, dearly," said Bee. "If he thinks that I am like her he will love me too. He just must like me," she broke forth. "Why, Adele, I think I should die if he didn't."