“I will not ask anyone but Mr. Leigh,” said Bee, throwing back her head;
“and I advise you to mind your own business, and not to call names that
may come back upon yourself.”
“Stop where you are, Bee. I never went out into the world under false
pretences. A man is a cad when he does that.”
“I shall not stop for you, nor anyone but my parents,” said Bee, in a
splendid flush of anger, her countenance glowing, her eyes blazing.
“Stand out of my way. Oh, if that is all, and you want to make a scene
for the edification of the tourists, I can go in by the other door.”
And she did so, leaving Charlie standing flushed and angry, but quite
unable, it need scarcely be said, to coerce his sister. To make an
attempt of this kind, which comes to nothing, is confusing and
humiliating. He looked round angrily for a moment to see if it were
possible to intercept her, then, yielding to necessity, sat down where
Betty, eager and full of a thousand questions, sat calling for
explanations. That is the good of a family party, there is always
someone ready to hear what you have to say.
Bee went at once to the English-speaking waiter, and asked for Mr.
Leigh, whom the man, curious as all lookers-on are at a social drama
going on under their eyes, declared to be still in his room. She sent
him off instantly with a message, and stood in the hall awaiting his
return, angry and brave, like the rose in George Herbert’s poem, yet
soon getting shamefaced and troubled, as the people coming and going,
travellers, visitors, attendants, stared at her and brushed against her
as they passed. Bee never forgot all her life the gleam of the river at
the foot of the steps, of which she had a glimpse through the
doorway--the Rhine barges slowly crossing that little space of vision,
the little boats flitting across the gleam of the rosy morning, and the
strong flowing tide, the figures going up and down breaking the
prospect.
The man came back to her after a time, looking half sympathetic, half
malicious, with the message that the gentleman was just going out.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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