"Yes; I dare say." The entomologist was clearly bewildered by the occurrence, and he greeted his own daughter awkwardly in consequence. Bee received his caress passively, feeling with unerring intuition his lack of warmth.
Mechanically she followed the others into the parlor, her anguish each moment becoming more intolerable. She could not but remark how her father's eyes were constantly straying toward Adele who was fairly radiant. Bee had adored her cousin, and had been proud of her beauty; but now, something closely resembling hatred crept into her heart.
Hoping that the cheer and conversation of the table would put matters upon a more genial footing, Mrs. Raymond ushered them in to dinner. The lady, as well as her husband, had been distressed by the incident, and both viewed with anxiety Beatrice's constraint and coldness. The girl was usually the gayest of the gay at table, and so light-hearted that her aunt frequently reproved her for her levity, but now, fearful of losing control of herself, she grew so frigid that there was no thawing her out. The talk was chiefly among the grown people.
"What are your plans, William?" asked Henry Raymond.
"They are uncertain," replied Doctor Raymond. "I shall be here for the summer at least. I have a great number of specimens to mount and to catalogue, beside some work upon my new book. In fact, I have so much on hand that I fear it will be very lonesome for Beatrice. Do you not think, my child,—" with a conciliatory smile in Bee's direction, and blundering into a second error as even the most learned of men, be they lepidopterists or what not, sometimes will,—"do you not think that you would better have your cousin with you for the summer?"
"No;" blurted out Bee, unable to trust herself to utter more than the single word.
"Why, bless my soul!" ejaculated the scientist, turning an amazed glance upon her. Mrs. Raymond interposed quickly:
"Beatrice is right, William. It has been long since she has seen you, and you will naturally wish to spend as much time with her as possible. I have already arranged for Adele to go to mother's for the summer. She may come to you in the fall; if Beatrice wishes."
"Perhaps that will be better," acquiesced the traveller quietly. "And now, as we are all here together, it may be the time and place for explanations. I don't know whether one is due me, or to Beatrice; but I do not understand how I received this in place of her picture. Can you explain the mistake, my daughter?"
He drew Adele's photograph from the inside pocket of his coat as he spoke, and handed it to Bee. She gave an exclamation of astonishment as she saw the beautiful, laughing countenance on the cardboard instead of her own. Then she raised her eyes, and gave Adele a long, steady look. Adele had changed the photographs, and Bee knew that it had been done on purpose. She saw that her cousin was a little frightened, and she wondered what explanation she would make.