"Will you excuse my answering that question?" she asked.
"It is very simple and natural," persisted Beth. "Why cannot you answer
it?"
"Excuse me, please. I--I am not well today. I have a headache."
She sat down in a rocking chair, and clasping her hands in her lap,
rocked slowly back and forth.
"I'm sorry," said Beth. "I hoped you would be able to assist me on the
lawn. There are so many people that we can't give them proper
attention."
Eliza Parsons shook her head.
"I am not able," she declared. "I abhor crowds. They--they excite me, in
some way, and I--I can't bear them. You must excuse me."
Beth looked at the strange girl without taking the hint to retire.
Somehow, she could not rid herself of the impression that whether or not
she was mistaken in supposing Eliza to be the missing Lucy, she had
stumbled upon a sphinx whose riddle was well worth solving.
But Eliza bore the scrutiny with quiet unconcern. She even seemed mildly
amused at the attention she attracted. Beth was a beautiful girl--the
handsomest of the three cousins, by far; yet Eliza surpassed her in
natural charm, and seemed well aware of the fact. Her manner was neither
independent nor assertive, but rather one of well-bred composure and
calm reliance.
Pages:
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129