As though the words were wrenched from him by the striking picture that Annabel made, he said in a stolid, colorless voice:
“You are more beautiful than Lentala.”
“Hear his disloyalty to his sister!” laughingly exclaimed Annabel, but I could see that the boy’s bearing was trying her composure. “Come!” she added; “let’s be friends, for Lentala and I are, and I want you to tell me about her.” She coaxingly held out her hand as to an ill-tempered child.
But he ignored it, and lowered his head till his hat-rim concealed his eyes. Annabel looked at me in questioning surprise, but before I could say anything,—being as much astonished as she,—Beelo, without raising his head, asked half sullenly, half commandingly:
“Have you and—Choseph known each other a long time?”
“A year or so,” Annabel promptly answered, anxious to show her friendliness. “He’s been very kind. I became a skilful horsewoman under his teaching, and we’ve danced together and taken long walks in the country. He knows a great many interesting things. You see, he was educated at West Point, where young men are trained to be officers of our army, and has fought in the war, and——”
Beelo broke in with a toss of the head and a laugh that sounded much like a sneer.
Annabel opened her eyes and looked in wonder from the boy to me. She was not laughing now; alarm was creeping into her face. I could think of nothing to say, but was confident that the two fine souls would find a way.
Without raising his face to Annabel, Beelo slowly looked round at me, and regarded me deeply and in silence. Sadness stole into his eyes, and with it reproach. The mystery of it touched me as I steadily returned his look.
As he did not speak, I did. “Beelo,” I kindly said, “I don’t understand you, and I don’t like your conduct. You wished to see Annabel. To please me, she kindly took the trouble to come and tried to be friendly to you. But you treat her rudely. You are not worthy to touch her hand.”