“Papa,” said Busy Bee, “I am afraid I know the reason but too well.  It was my foolish way of talking about the Careys; I used to tease poor Fred about Roger’s having taken him for Philip, and say all sorts of things that I did not really mean.”

“Hem!” said her father.  “Well, I should think it might be so; it always struck me that the prejudice must be grounded upon some absurd notion, the memory of which had passed away, while the impression remained.”

“And do you think I could do anything towards removing it?  You know I am to go and wish Fred good-bye this afternoon.”

“Why, yes; you might as well try to say something cheerful, which might do away with the impression.  Not that I think it will be of any use; only do not let him think it has been under discussion.”

Beatrice assented, and was silent again while they went on talking.

“Aunt Mary has held out wonderfully?” said her mother.

“Too wonderfully,” said Mr. Geoffrey Langford, “in a way which I fear will cost her dearly.  I have been positively longing to see her give way as she ought to have done under the fatigue; and now I am afraid of the old complaint:  she puts her hand to her side now and then, and I am persuaded that she had some of those spasms a night or two ago.”

“Ah!” said his wife, with great concern, “that is just what I have been dreading the whole time.  When she consulted Dr. —–­, how strongly he forbade her to use any kind of exertion.  Why would you not let me come?  I assure you it was all I could do to keep myself from setting off.”

“It was very well behaved in you, indeed, Beatrice,” said he, smiling; “a sacrifice which very few husbands would have had resolution either to make themselves, or to ask of their wives.  I thanked you greatly when I did not see you.”

“But why would you not have me?  Do you not repent it now?”

“Not in the least.  Fred would let no one come near him but his mother and me; you could not have saved either of us an hour’s nursing then, whereas now you can keep Fred in order, and take care of Mary, if she will suffer it, and that she will do better from you than from any one else.”

They were now reaching the entrance of Sutton Leigh Lane, and Queen Bee was called upon for the full history of the accident, which, often as it had been told by letter, must again be narrated in all its branches.  Even her father had never had time to hear it completely; and there was so much to ask and to answer on the merely external circumstances, that they had not begun to enter upon feelings and thoughts when they arrived at the gate of the paddock, which was held open by Dick and Willy, excessively delighted to see Aunt Geoffrey.