You must sit by my side, please, and tell me at once
whether you have seen Beatrice."
Tavernake did exactly as he was bidden. The chair toward which
she had pointed was quite close to the sofa, but there was no
other unoccupied in the room. She raised herself a little on the
couch and turned towards him. Her eyes were fixed anxiously upon
his, her forehead slightly wrinkled, her voice tremulous with
eagerness.
"You have seen her?"
"I have," he admitted, looking steadily into the lining of his
hat.
"She has been cruel," Elizabeth declared. "I can tell it from
your face. You have bad news for me."
"I do not know," Tavernake replied, "whether she has been cruel
or not. She refuses to allow me to tell you her address. She
begged me, indeed, to keep away from you altogether."
"Why? Did she tell you why?"
"She says that you are her sister, that you have no money of your
own and that your husband has left you," Tavernake answered,
deliberately.
"Is that all?"
"No, it is not all," he continued. "As to the rest, she told me
nothing definite. It is quite clear, however, that she is very
anxious to keep away from you."
"But her reason?" Elizabeth persisted. "Did she give you no
reason?"
Tavernake looked her in the face.
"She gave me no reason," he said.
"Do you believe that she is justified in treating me like this?"
Elizabeth asked, playing nervously with a pendant which hung from
her smooth, bare neck.
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