“Bee, think; it is papa you are speaking of. Dear, I feel for you--I feel for you! but so does he. Oh, my darling, you don’t know what you are saying. Do you think he would do anything to make you unhappy if he could help it--your papa, Bee, who has been so good to you all your life?” “I do not care how good he has been. He is not good now. How will it harm him? He sits at home, and he thinks he can do as he pleases. But not with me. It is my affair more than it is his. He thinks he can break his word and it doesn’t matter--but I have given my word, and it does matter. Break my engagement!” cried Bee, her young bosom swelling, the sob rising in her throat that would soon choke her voice. “It is mine and not his; and nobody in the world shall break it. You can tell him so, mamma, or I will write myself and tell him so. I am not a wax image to take any shape he pleases. Who is he? He is not God----” “Bee--he is your father----” “Oh, my father! Yes, I do whatever he tells me. If he says I am to fetch anything I run like a little dog. I have never been disobedient. But this--this is different. I am not a child any longer. And, mamma, not for him nor for anyone--not even for you will I take back my word.” “Bee! You make me say a great deal more than I meant to say. I thought you would have been a good child and seen that papa must know best. My poor, poor little girl, there is worse behind. Mr. Leigh, whom we all thought so much of----” “Aubrey,” Bee managed to say, though for no other word could she command her voice. “Darling, he has deceived us. He is not what he seems. He has done, oh, so wrong--there have been things--that you ought never to hear----” “Stop!” said Bee. She had to speak in monosyllables with her labouring breath. “Wait!--not behind his back.” She rushed to the bell and rung it so wildly that both waiter and chambermaid appeared in alarm, with Moulsey rushing in calling for a doctor, and saying that her lady was going to faint. Bee pushed the woman aside and turned to the waiter, who stood anxious at the door. “Mr. Leigh!” she cried, impatiently; “the gentleman--who was with us: tell him--to come here.” “The tall young gentleman?” said the waiter. “No--the other: tell him he is to come here--instantly--this moment.” “I beg your pardon, miss,” said the man. “The other gentleman? He have been gone away this half-hour.” “Gone away!” she cried. And it seemed to Bee that the blackness of darkness closed over her and the room and everything in it. She did not faint, oh no, no such happiness--but everything grew dark, and through the dark she heard her own voice speaking--speaking, and did not know what she said. CHAPTER V.