Sir James made a little gesture of bewilderment.
“Well, come in, Chris. I do not understand; but if you both think so—”
He broke off and opened the door.
Lady Torridon was gone to her room; and the two girls were alone. Beatrice was standing before the hearth with her hands behind her back—a gallant upright figure; as they came in, she turned a cheerful face to them.
“Your daughter has been apologising, Sir James,” she said; and there was a ripple of amusement in her voice. “She thinks I have been hardly treated.”
She glanced at the bewildered Margaret, who was staring at her under her delicate eyebrows with wide eyes of amazement and admiration.
Sir James looked confused.
“The truth is, Mistress Atherton, that I too—and my son—”
“Well, not your son,” said Chris smiling.
“You too!” cried Beatrice. “And how have I been hardly treated?”