We are halfway through St. John. What are you laughing at?"
The tone of intense irritation pulled Mrs. Cary up short in the midst
of a loud fit of laughter.
"I'm sorry, my dear," she apologized, "but you really must admit it's
rather funny."
"What is rather funny?"
"Oh, well, you, you know. Fancy you as a missionary! I must tell Mrs.
Berry. It will amuse her, and--"
She stopped again, as though she had inadvertently trodden on the tail
of a scorpion. She had seen Beatrice angry, but not as now. There was
something not unlike desperation in the eyes that were suddenly turned
on her.
"You won't tell Mrs. Berry, mother. You will never breathe a word to a
single soul of what I have told you. It was very absurd of me to say
anything--I don't know what made me. I might have known that you would
not understand--but sometimes I forget that 'mother' is not a synonym
for everything."
Mrs. Cary smarted under what she felt to be an unjust and uncalled-for
attack.
"I don't see what I have done now," she protested indignantly. "What
is there to understand that I haven't understood, pray?"
Her daughter got up as though she could no longer bear to remain
still, and began to walk restlessly about the room.
"Never mind," she said. "That doesn't matter. What _does_ matter is
that I will not have the Rajah made a butt for the Station's
witticisms. You can say what you like about me--I don't care in the
least--but you will leave him alone.
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