"As if I did not know that," said he, smiling.
"And so she would not yield to this fancy? Very wise indeed. But I should like to know the reason of this dislike on Fred's part. Have you ever asked him?"
"No; he is not in a fit state for argument; and, besides, I think the prejudice would only be strengthened. We have praised Philip again and again, before him, and said all we could think of to give him confidence in him, but nothing will do; in fact, I suspect Mr. Fred was sharp enough to discover that we were talking for a purpose. It has been the great trouble this whole time, though neither Mary nor I have mentioned it, for fear of annoying my mother."
"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.
In a few moments more she was affectionately welcomed by old Mrs. Langford, whose sentiments with regard to the two Beatrices were of a curiously varying and always opposite description. When her daughter-in-law was at a distance, she secretly regarded with a kind of respectful aversion, both her talents, her learning, and the fashionable life to which she had been accustomed; but in her presence the winning, lively simplicity of her manners completely dispelled all these prejudices in an instant, and she loved her most cordially for her own sake, as well as because she was Geoffrey's wife. On the contrary, the younger Beatrice, while absent, was the dear little granddaughter,-the Queen of Bees, the cleverest of creatures; and while present, it has already been shown how constantly the two tempers fretted each other, or had once done so, though now, so careful had Busy Bee lately been, there had been only one collision between them for the last ten days, and that was caused by her strenuous attempts to convince grandmamma that Fred was not yet fit for boiled chicken and calves' foot jelly.
Mrs. Langford's greetings were not half over when Henrietta and her mamma hastened down stairs to embrace dear Aunt Geoffrey.
"My dear Mary, I am so glad to be come to you at last!"
"Thank you, O! thank you, Beatrice. How Fred will enjoy having you now!"
"Is he tired?" asked Uncle Geoffrey.
"No, not at all; he seems to be very comfortable. He has been talking of Queen Bee's promised visit. Do you like to go up now, my dear?"
Queen Bee consented eagerly, though with some trepidation, for she had not seen her cousin since his accident, and besides, she did not know how to begin about Philip Carey. She ran to take off her bonnet, while Henrietta went to announce her coming. She knocked at the door, Henrietta opened it, and coming in, she saw Fred lying on the sofa by the fire, in his dressing-gown, stretched out in that languid listless manner that betokens great feebleness. There were the purple marks of leeches on his temples; his hair had been cropped close to his head; his face was long and thin, without a shade of colour, but his eyes looked large and bright; and he smiled and held out his hand: "Ah, Queenie, how d'ye do?"
"How d'ye do, Fred? I am glad you are better."
"You see I have the asses' ears after all," said he, pointing to his own, which were very prominent in his shorn and shaven condition.
Beatrice could not very easily call up a smile, but she made an effort, and succeeded, while she said, "I should have complimented you on the increased wisdom of your looks. I did not know the shape of your head was so like papa's."
"Is Aunt Geoffrey come?" asked Fred.
"Yes," said his sister: "but mamma thinks you had better not see her till to-morrow."
"I wish Uncle Geoffrey was not going," said Fred. "Nobody else has the least notion of making one tolerably comfortable."
"O, your mamma, Fred!" said Queen Bee.
"O yes, mamma, of course! But then she is getting fagged."
"Mamma says she is quite unhappy to have kept him so long from his work in London," said Henrietta; "but I do not know what we should have done without him."
"I do not know what we shall do now," said Fred, in a languid and doleful tone.
The Queen Bee, thinking this a capital opportunity, spoke with almost alarmed eagerness, "O yes, Fred, you will get on famously; you will enjoy having my mamma so much, and you are so much better already, and Philip Carey manages you so well-"
"Manages!" said Fred; "ay, and I'll tell you how, Queenie; just as the man managed his mare when he fed her on a straw a day. I believe he thinks I am a ghool, and can live on a grain of rice. I only wish he knew himself what starvation is. Look here! you can almost see the fire through my hand, and if I do but lift up my head, the whole room is in a a merry-go-round. And that is nothing but weakness; there is nothing else on earth the matter with me, except that I am starved down to the strength of a midge!"
"Well, but of course he knows," said Busy Bee; "Papa says he has had an excellent education, and he must know."
"To be sure he does, perfectly welclass="underline" he is a sharp fellow, and knows how to keep a patient when he has got one."
"How can you talk such nonsense, Fred? One comfort is, that it is a sign you are getting well, or you would not have spirits to do it."
"I am talking no nonsense," said Fred, sharply; "I am as serious as possible."
"But you can't really think that if Philip was capable of acting in such an atrocious way, that papa would not find it out, and the other doctor too?"