She gulped and faced the inevitable.
It must come some time, she thought, and it might as well be now--though
it did seem a pity to spoil a good dinner for every one but Dick, who
was eating his with relish.
"No, honey"--her voice was clear and had the note of finality--"I'm not
going--ever."
Sir Redmond's teeth went together with a click, and he picked up the
pepper shaker mechanically and peppered his salad until it was perfectly
black, and Beatrice wondered how he ever expected to eat it. Mrs.
Lansell dropped her fork on the floor, and had to have a clean one
brought. Miss Hayes sent a frightened glance at her brother. Dick sat
and ate fried chicken.
"Why, Be'trice? I wants you to--and de puppies'll need you--and auntie,
and--" Dorman gathered himself for the last, crushing argument--"and
Uncle Redmon' wants you awf'lly!"
Beatrice took a sip of ice water, for she needed it.
"Why, Be'trice? Gran-mama'll let you go, guess. Can't she go,
gran'mama?"
It was Mrs. Lansell's turn to test the exquisite torture of that
prickly chill along the spine. Like Beatrice, she dodged.
"Little boys," she announced weakly, "should not speak until they're
spoken to."
Dick came near strangling on a shred of chicken.
"Can't she go, gran'mama? Say, can't she? Tell Be'trice to go home wis
us, gran'mama!"
"Beatrice"--Mrs.
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