"And you do forgive me, uncle? You will let me try again?"
"Yes, child; of course I forgive you."
Bee listened to the foregoing conversation with amazement and profound astonishment. She, too, had trespassed, but he had promised forgiveness only if her future conduct merited it. What was the reason that he found it so much harder to forgive her than Adele? Did he exact more from her because she was his daughter? He had told her that he had thought her different from other girls. If that were the case then did he expect her to come up to a higher standard? Puzzled, perplexed, she gazed at her father with such steady directness that he turned his head and met her glance squarely.
"Beatrice," he said, "I fear you do not understand many things."
But Bee smiled suddenly. She thought she had solved the enigma. And with the thought came the resolve that she would meet his expectations; that she would, if endeavor could bring it about, reach the high standard he had set for his daughter. So she was able to reply:
"I think that I do, father. It's all right."
Then with Percival she went out of the room.