“I suppose I must stop a week or ten days longer,” thought Bessie, laying down her letters with rather a dissatisfied feeling. “I wish father could have written, himself, but I dare say he will in a day or two. I will try not to fidget. I will wait a little, and then write to mother and tell her how I feel about things. When she understands how difficult it is for me to get away without giving offense, she will be sure to help me, and six weeks are enough to satisfy Mrs. Sefton.”
Bessie spoke of her letters at luncheon-time. Edna heard her with languid attention, but Mrs. Sefton was triumphant.
“I knew they could spare you, Bessie,” she said, with a look of amusement that made Bessie feel a little small.
Richard glanced at her without speaking, and then busied himself in his carving. But that evening, as Bessie was pausing in the hall to look out at the dark clouds that were scurrying across the sky, she found Richard at her elbow.
“There is going to be a storm,” he said quietly. “I have been expecting it all day. Edna is always nervous; she hates the thunder. What was that my mother was saying at luncheon, Miss Lambert? Surely you do not intend leaving us?”
“Not just yet—not for another week,” returned Bessie, much surprised by the gravity of his manner. “They will want me at home after that.”
“They will not want you as much as some of us do here,” he returned, with much feeling. “Miss Lambert, do not go unless you are obliged. My sister needs you, and so—” He broke off abruptly, colored, and finally wished her good-night.
“I wonder why he did not finish his sentence?” thought Bessie innocently, as she went up to her room.