"I don't prefer it; it is hateful to me. I like to be myself, to have
my liberty, and the confidence of those about me. But I cannot think it
kind to disturb the peace of anyone, and so I try to obey. I've promised
Bella to remain, but I will go rather than have another scene with Miss
Beaufort or with you."
Miss Muir had burst out impetuously, and stood there with a sudden fire
in her eyes, sudden warmth and spirit in her face and voice that amazed
Coventry. She was angry, hurt, and haughty, and the change only made her
more attractive, for not a trace of her former meek self remained.
Coventry was electrified, and still more surprised when she added,
imperiously, with a gesture as if to put him aside, "Hand me that book
and move away. I wish to go."
He obeyed, even offered his hand, but she refused it, stepped lightly
down, and went to the door. There she turned, and with the same
indignant voice, the same kindling eyes and glowing cheeks, she said
rapidly, "I know I have no right to speak in this way. I restrain myself
as long as I can, but when I can bear no more, my true self breaks
loose, and I defy everything. I am tired of being a cold, calm machine;
it is impossible with an ardent nature like mine, and I shall try no
longer. I cannot help it if people love me. I don't want their love. I
only ask to be left in peace, and why I am tormented so I cannot see.
I've neither beauty, money, nor rank, yet every foolish boy mistakes my
frank interest for something warmer, and makes me miserable. It is my
misfortune. Think of me what you will, but beware of me in time, for
against my will I may do you harm."
Almost fiercely she had spoken, and with a warning gesture she hurried
from the room, leaving the young man feeling as if a sudden thunder-gust
had swept through the house. For several minutes he sat in the chair she
left, thinking deeply. Suddenly he rose, went to his sister, and said,
in his usual tone of indolent good nature, "Bella, didn't I hear Ned ask
you to be kind to Miss Muir?"
"Yes, and I try to be, but she is so odd lately."
"Odd! How do you mean?"
"Why, she is either as calm and cold as a statue, or restless and queer;
she cries at night, I know, and sighs sadly when she thinks I don't
hear. Something is the matter."
"She frets for Ned perhaps," began Coventry.
"Oh dear, no; it's a great relief to her that he is gone. I'm afraid
that she likes someone very much, and someone don't like her. Can it be
Mr. Sydney?"