She found her mother waiting for her in her room, whither she fled to
be alone and undisturbed to fight and stamp out the pain that was
aching in her heart. Mrs. Cary, wonderfully curled and powdered,
received her daughter with unusual rapture.
"My dear!" she exclaimed, kissing Beatrice on both cheeks, "I am so
glad you have come back early! Captain Stafford is here, and has
something for you--I shouldn't be surprised if it was a ring, you
lucky child! Did I not tell you he was the very husband for you? He
has been telling me all about Lois and Travers. Everybody is quite
pleased about it. Now hurry up and make yourself pretty. Why, what's
the matter? You look so--so queer!"
Beatrice pushed past her mother and, going to the table, flung herself
down as though exhausted.
"It's nothing," she muttered. "Tell--John I can't see him. I'm
tired--ill--anything you like."
"Beaty, I won't do anything of the sort. What has happened? Is it that
horrid Rajah? Did you tell him?"
"Yes."
"And he made a scene, my poor Beaty?"
"No."
"Can't you answer me properly? Tell me what happened."
"He asked me to marry him."
Mrs. Cary first gasped, and then burst into a loud, cackling laugh.
"He asked you to marry him! That colored man! I hope you laughed in
his face?"
Beatrice turned, one clenched hand resting on the table.
"No," she said, "I did not laugh--there was nothing to laugh at.
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