Percival said no more, but he glanced so significantly at the hat as he bade Adele farewell that the blood rushed to her face, and her adieu was very constrained.
"I don't like those people," she exclaimed as they passed beyond hearing. "Bee, how can you bear the way Mrs. Medulla pronounces your name? It sounds like Beyoutricky."
Bee opened her lips to reply, but before she could do so, her father spoke:
"I rather liked them. The lady pronounces Beatrice's name after the Italian fashion, and is a very warm friend of hers. The boy is undoubtedly a genius, albeit somewhat spoiled. I am glad that we have them for neighbors."
Chapter XVIII
A Breach of Trust
"Our lives are songs;
God writes the words,
And we set them to music at leisure;
And the song is sad, or the song is glad,
As we choose to fashion the measure."
—Gibbon.