"Yes, oh, yes;" a.s.sented Bee quickly. "I'd like--I'd like--" And she burst into tears.

"Excuse me a moment, madam, I beg," said the scientist rising. He drew his daughter's hand through his arm, and quietly led her from the room, up the stairs to her own chamber.

"I do not believe, Beatrice, that you are any more concerned in this matter than is Percival," he remarked as he opened the door for her. "I can see that you consider it right to shield him as well as yourself by refusing an explanation. I shall ask you nothing further concerning it.

I can only say how deeply I regret that you should have done anything that would give pain to Mrs. Medulla."

"Father, father," sobbed Bee, turning to him appealingly, "it isn't, it isn't as you think. Oh, do trust me a little."

"Do you think you have proved worthy of being trusted, Beatrice?"

"No;" admitted the girl humbly. "I don't deserve it at all when I was so careless; but this is different. You ought not to judge me harshly until you know all about it."

"I do not wish to judge you harshly in anything, my child. In the present instance nothing can be done until the circ.u.mstances are known.

As you refuse to tell them you must accept whatever judgment your actions call for. I think if I were you I should lie down for a time.

You seem quite warm and a little upset. Try to compose yourself."

"I will, father." Bee entered the room with a sigh. He had not yet forgiven her the loss of the b.u.t.terfly, she could see. She sat down and buried her face in her hands as the door closed behind him, and gave way to a flood of tears.

For what lay at the bottom of her bitterness? It was the knowledge that with just a little more carefulness on her part none of this trouble would have come upon her. Grief when caused by one's own carelessness is harder to bear than that which comes from unfortunate circ.u.mstance, so now Bee took herself to task severely.

"Mrs. Medulla told me that I was liable to spoil everything," she mused with some bitterness. "Oh, dear! just when things were going nicely I had to spoil it all by a few moments of carelessness. And if Percival doesn't explain his mother will never like me again; while father--" She choked. Her heart ached with longing for her father's forgiveness.

"Poor father," she exclaimed suddenly as she went to the mirror to put up her hair. "If he is as disappointed in me as I am in Percival I know just how he feels. I knew that Percival was a spoiled child, but I didn't think he was a coward. I wonder if I seem as different to father?

If I do I don't wonder that he prefers Adele."

And with this Bee laid down upon the bed, and through sheer exhaustion fell asleep.

Chapter XXI

How the Day Ended

"Within the garden's peaceful scene Appeared two lovely foes, Aspiring to the rank of queen, The Lily and the Rose."

--_Cowper._

Bee was awakened by Aunt f.a.n.n.y bringing in her dinner. The sun had set and the cool sweetness of the evening gave relief from the heat of the day. All the events of the afternoon seemed unreal and dreamlike in spite of her aching eyes. She arose and began to bathe them, with a strange feeling of insensibility as though nothing could ever make her cry again.

"Now, honey, I jest ain't a-gwine ter take dat dinnah back," remarked the negress determinedly, seating herself as Bee motioned her to take the food away. "Dere ain't no use mopin' erroun' like you-all is doin'.

Yer pa fixed hit him own se'f, an' I ain't gwine ter take hit back."

"Did you say that father fixed it?" asked the girl with quick interest.

"'Deed he did, Miss Bee. He done poured de tea, an' put two lumps of sugah in de saucah jest like you does fer de world. Den he fixed de thing on de tray, an' he say, 'Take dat to Miss Beatrice,' he say.

'Co'se I done hit; an' heah I is, an' heah I stays 'twel you eats. .h.i.t."

"If father fixed it, I will eat it," said Bee. "You are not joking about it, Aunt f.a.n.n.y? You are sure that he did it, and not Adele?"

"Now, Miss Bee, yer knows dat Miss Adele ain't a-gwine ter bodder her haid 'bout udder folks; specially ef dey ain't erroun'," returned Aunt f.a.n.n.y scornfully, with whom Adele was no favorite. "No'm; she too busy wid sayin': 'How does ye like yer coffee, uncle deah? Am hit sweet 'nuff fer ye?' Jest like b.u.t.tah wouldn't melt in her mouf. No'm; Miss Adele ain't a-bodderin' 'bout you all. Ner enny body elsen but her own se'f."

"I don't know about that," demurred Bee, wishing to be just to her cousin. "She certainly looks after old Rachel. I don't believe that she has missed a day going down there for the past three weeks. We must give her credit for that, Aunt f.a.n.n.y."

"Huh!" snorted Aunt f.a.n.n.y. "I reckon yer doesn't know ebberthing, Miss Bee."

"What do you mean?" questioned Bee, pausing in the act of taking a bite of bread.

"Nebber you min' what I means," returned the old woman mysteriously.

"Jest yer eat yer dinnah."

"But I want to know," insisted Bee. Before Aunt f.a.n.n.y could answer, however, Adele herself entered the room.

"Uncle William says for you to come right down, Bee. Percival and his mother are there, and wish to see you."

"Percival," exclaimed Bee. "Why, I thought his mother would not want him to see me any more?"

"You can't blame her, can you?" asked her cousin pertly. "Bee, whatever got into you today? Percival looks dreadful with his curls off. What made you cut them?"

Bee's eyes flashed. She did not reply for a full moment. When she spoke she said merely:

"Perhaps you would not understand even though I should tell you about the matter, Adele."

"Perhaps not. Bee Raymond, do you know that you are dreadfully changed?

When you came in the library this afternoon with that bleached hair of yours flying you looked a perfect fright." Adele giggled, and then added with some malice: "Uncle William thinks so, too."

"Never mind," spoke Bee frigidly. "You have your good looks so what does it matter? Just think what a calamity it would be if you were to lose them!"

"I think you are just as mean as can be to even suggest such a thing, Bee Raymond. I wouldn't lose my beauty for anything."

"I should hope not," said her cousin cuttingly. "There wouldn't be anything left to you if you did."

"I couldn't be as ugly as you are if I did lose it," retorted Adele angrily.

"Oh, I am getting horrid," exclaimed Bee rising, her better nature coming to her aid. "Simply horrid! I beg your pardon, Adele. You couldn't be anything but pretty, of course. Will you come down with me?"

"Oh, it's all right," yawned Adele, quite appeased by Bee's apology. "I dare say that I should feel just as you do were I in your place. No; I won't go down. It's you they want to see. They are in the library with Uncle William."

Bee went slowly down stairs. She felt reluctant to meet Percival, and to have the subject of the hair cutting reopened. As she entered the library the boy ran to her, and caught her hand.

"Beefly, you're a brick," he cried. "You see, when my mother came in she was so angry that I was scared. I think I never was afraid of her before in my life, so I let you take the blame. And you didn't tell on me at all. You're a chum worth having. That was twice today that you took my part."

"Perhaps, my boy, you would not mind telling just how the matter occurred," suggested Doctor Raymond. "Beatrice has left us very much in the dark concerning it."

"I don't mind in the least," answered Percival who seemed eager now to explain everything. "Beatrice was not to blame at all. You see--"

"Permit me to say a word first, Percival," interrupted his mother, who had stood quietly by while he made his apologies. "Beatrice, you must pardon me, also, as well as Percival. I did not understand things until he explained them on my return home. I am truly sorry that I spoke so hastily as I did before learning all the circ.u.mstances. It seems, from what Percival tells me, that you did all that you could to keep him from cutting his hair, and then shouldered the blame rather than tell on him.