simply MUST
go away. I have to." She ran her fingers hysterically through her hair.
"Don't you see that I HAVE to go away? I didn't realize at the time--and
of course I want to see Constantinople so particularly."

"You mean that since you have broken off your engagement you feel--"

"Yes, yes. I knew you'd understand."

Mr. Beebe did not quite understand. Why could not Miss Honeychurch
repose in the bosom of her family? Cecil had evidently taken up the
dignified line, and was not going to annoy her. Then it struck him that
her family itself might be annoying. He hinted this to her, and she
accepted the hint eagerly.

"Yes, of course; to go to Constantinople until they are used to the idea
and everything has calmed down."

"I am afraid it has been a bothersome business," he said gently.

"No, not at all. Cecil was very kind indeed; only--I had better tell
you the whole truth, since you have heard a little--it was that he is
so masterful. I found that he wouldn't let me go my own way. He would
improve me in places where I can't be improved. Cecil won't let a woman
decide for herself--in fact, he daren't. What nonsense I do talk! but
that is the kind of thing."

"It is what I gathered from my own observation of Mr. Vyse; it is what I
gather from all that I have known of you. I do sympathize and agree
most profoundly. I agree so much that you must let me make one little
criticism: Is it worth while rushing off to Greece?"

"But I must go somewhere!" she cried. "I have been worrying all the
morning, and here comes the very thing." She struck her knees with
clenched fists, and repeated: "I must! And the time I shall have with
mother, and all the money she spent on me last spring. You all think
much too highly of me. I wish you weren't so kind." At this moment Miss
Bartlett entered, and her nervousness increased. "I must get away, ever
so far. I must know my own mind and where I want to go."

"Come along; tea, tea, tea," said Mr. Beebe, and bustled his guests out
of the front-door. He hustled them so quickly that he forgot his hat.
When he returned for it he heard, to his relief and surprise, the
tinkling of a Mozart Sonata.

"She is playing again," he said to Miss Bartlett.

"Lucy can always play," was the acid reply.

"One is very thankful that she has such a resource. She is evidently
much worried, as, of course, she ought to be. I know all about it. The
marriage was so near that it must have been a hard str