It seemed as though Beatrice would persist.

‘Now, if it were not such an unlikely thing,’ said her aunt, ’I should be disposed to think it was Mr. Athel who is driving you away.’

‘Mr. Athel!’ the girl exclaimed, almost haughtily, and with a flush which disappeared as rapidly as it came, leaving the lovely face with a touch of exquisite paleness.

‘I mean,’ said Mrs. Baxendale quickly, averting her honest eyes, ’that I fear he has offended you.’

‘How can Mr. Athel have offended me?’ Beatrice asked, with a certain severity.

‘I thought perhaps—­a remark he made last night on the revival.’

Mrs. Baxendale felt ill at ease.  Her first sentence had been inconsiderate; she knew it as soon as it was uttered, and indeed did not quite see what could have induced her to make such a remark.  She had not the habit of nice conversation which endows with complete command of the tongue.  But her wits had, as you see, come to her rescue.

‘Mr. Athel’s opinions on that subject are not likely to offend me,’ Beatrice replied, with the shadow of a smile.

’I am so afraid lest he should suspect anything of the kind.  I am sure it would grieve him dreadfully.’

The girl laughed outright, though not with much joyousness.

’Mr. Athel be grieved for such a cause!  My dear aunt, you don’t know him.  He’s as little sensitive as any man could be.  Why, he holds it a duty to abuse people who do things he counts foolish.’

‘You exaggerate,’ returned her aunt, with a smile.

Beatrice continued, vivaciously.

’Oh, you don’t know him as well as I do.  We used to be always wrangling—­in the days of my simplicity.  I have been marvelling at his forbearance; it would have been nothing wonderful if he had called me an idiot.  Frankness of that kind is the mark of his friendship—­haven’t you found that out?  Hasn’t he taken occasion yet to inform you that your life is conducted on an utterly mistaken principle, that you are shallow and inefficient, that you are worse than useless in the world, and ought, if properly constituted, to be a torment to yourself?  None of these things he has said?  Oh, then you are not admitted to Mr. Athel’s intimacy; you are not of the inner circle.’

She spoke with a kind of reckless gaiety, a mocking merriment which her rich voice and command of facial expression made very effective.  It startled her hearer, who, when the girl ceased, took one of her hands and patted it kindly.

‘Why then,’ she said, ’I have been altogether mistaken; for I did really think he had offended you.  But now I’m sure you’ll stay—­won’t you?’

’Rather than you should think I run away from Mr. Athel’s high censure—­certainly.’

Then she became silent, and shortly left the room.  Mrs. Baxendale sat by herself musing.