se he will," she said. "I suppose then you are not going out,
Mistress Atherton." And she glanced with an offensive contempt at the
girl and the monk. Beatrice's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, and
opened again.

"Why, no, Lady Torridon."

"I thought not," said the other; and again she glanced at the two--"for
I see the priest is not."

There was a moment's silence. Nick was looking at his wife with a face
of dismay. Then Beatrice answered smiling.

"Neither are you, dear Lady Torridon. Is not that enough to keep me?"

A short yelp of laughter broke from Nicholas; and he stooped to examine
his boot.

Lady Torridon opened her lips, closed them again, and turned her back on
the girl.

"But you are cruel," said Beatrice's voice from behind, "and--"

The woman turned once more venomously.

"You do not want me," she said. "You have taken one son of mine, and now
you would take the other. Is not my daughter enough?"

Beatrice instantly stepped up, and put her hand on the other's arm.

"Dear Mistress," she said; and her voice broke into tenderness; "she is
not enough--"

Lady Torridon jerked her arm away.

"Come, Mary," she said.

* * * * *

Matters were a little better after that. Sir James was not told of the
incident; because his son knew very well that he would not allow
Beatrice to stay another day after the insult; but Chris felt himself
bound to consult those who had heard what had passed as to whether
indeed it was possible for her to remain. Nicholas grew crimson with
indignation and vowed it was impossible. Mary hesitated; and Chris
himself was doubtful. He went at last to Beatrice that same evening; and
found her alone in the oak parlour, before supper. The sportsmen had not
yet come back; and the other ladies were upstairs.

Beatrice affected to treat it as nothing; and it was not till Chris
threatened to tell his father, that she told him all she thought.

"I must seem a vain fool to say so;" she said, leaning back in her
chair, and looking up at him, "and perhaps insolent too; yet I must say
it. It is this: I believe that Lady Torridon--Ah! how can I say it?"

"Tell me," said Chris steadily, looking away from her.

Beatrice shifted a little in her seat; and then stood up.

"Well, it is this. I do not believe your mother is so--so--is what she
sometimes seems. I think she is very sore and angry; there are a hundred
reasons. I think no one has--has faced h