Beth burst out laughing. "All the boys had their arms round girls," she explained. "I couldn't be singular."
Mrs. Caldwell dropped into a chair, and sat gazing at Beth as if she had never seen anything like her before, as indeed she never had.
"Who is this pupil of Mr. Richardson's?" she asked at last, "and how did you make his acquaintance?"
"His name is Alfred Cayley Pounce," Beth answered. "We were caught by the tide and nearly drowned together on the sands, and I've known him ever since."
"And do you mean to say that you have been meeting this young man in a clandestine manner—that you hadn't the proper pride to refuse to associate with him unless he were known to your family and you could meet him as an equal?"
"He did wish to make your acquaintance, but I wouldn't let him," Beth said.
"Why?" Mrs. Caldwell asked in amazement.
"Oh, because I was afraid you would be horrid to him," Beth answered.
Mrs. Caldwell was thunderstruck. The whole affair had overwhelmed her as a calamity which could not be met by any ordinary means. Scolding was out of the question, for she was not able to utter another word, but just sat there with such a miserable face, she might have been the culprit herself, especially as she ended by bursting into tears.
Beth's heart smote her, and she watched her mother for some time, yearning to say something to comfort her.