“Oh! who could want to speak to me—to-night? I cannot speak to anyone; you might have known.”
“Bee,” said Arthur, the eldest, “it isn’t just—anyone; it’s—we thought you would perhaps—”
“He told us,” said Fred, “who he was; and begged so hard—”
Then there came back upon poor Bee all the other trouble that she had pushed away from her. Her heart seemed to grow hard and cold after all the softening and tenderness of this dreadful yet heavenly hour. “I will see no one—no one,” she said.
“Bee,” said the boys, “we shut the gate upon him; but he took hold of our hands, and—and cried, too.” They had to stop and swallow the sob before either could say any more. “He said she was his best friend. He said he couldn’t bear it no more than us. And if you would only speak to him.”
Bee got up from her mother’s seat; her poor little heart swelled in her bosom as if it would burst. Oh! how was she to bear all this—to bear it all—to have no one to help her! “No, no, I will not. I will not!” she said.
“Oh, Bee,” cried Betty, “if it is Aubrey—poor Aubrey! She was fond of him. She would not like him to be left out. Oh, Bee, come; come and speak to him. Suppose one of us were alone, with nobody to say mother’s name to!”
“No, I will not,” said Bee. “Oh! Betty, mother knows why; she knows.”
“What does she know?” cried Betty, pleading. “She was fond of him. I am fond of him, without thinking of you, for mother’s sake.”
“Oh, let me go! I am going in; I am going to her. I wish, I wish she had taken me with her! No, no, no! I will never see him more.”