I am not to talk. I
wanted her to spend six months with me at Tunbridge Wells, and
she refused."
Mr. Beebe poked at a crumb with his knife.
"But my feelings are of no importance. I know too well that I get
on Lucy's nerves. Our tour was a failure. She wanted to leave
Florence, and when we got to Rome she did not want to be in Rome,
and all the time I felt that I was spending her mother's
money--."
"Let us keep to the future, though," interrupted Mr. Beebe. "I
want your advice."
"Very well," said Charlotte, with a choky abruptness that was
new to him, though familiar to Lucy. "I for one will help her to
go to Greece. Will you?"
Mr. Beebe considered.
"It is absolutely necessary," she continued, lowering her veil
and whispering through it with a passion, an intensity, that
surprised him. "I know--I know." The darkness was coming on, and
he felt that this odd woman really did know. "She must not stop
here a moment, and we must keep quiet till she goes. I trust that
the servants know nothing.
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