Our Bessie Part 17

"In that case I should go alone," returned Edna coldly; "but I should think you were unkind to desert me."

"I should have to bear that," replied Bessie rather sadly; "it is not what you would think of me, but what I ought to do. Oh, Edna, you are placing me in a very difficult position. I do not know how to act, and the whole thing distresses me so. Do give it up for my sake, and just to please me; do Edna, dear."

"I cannot give it up," was Edna's answer; "but I will not argue any more about it. Make up your mind quickly, Bessie, for there is no time to lose." And so saying, she left the room, and a moment afterward Bessie heard her ringing for her maid.

Bessie had never felt more distressed; she was so tired and so perplexed how to act, that she could almost have cried from worry. "If I go with her, will not Mrs. Sefton and Mr. Richard have a right to be offended with me?" she thought. "They will not know that I have tried to turn Edna from her purpose; they do not know me well enough to be sure of my motives. Edna told him that I wanted to see polo played; they may believe that I was willing to go. I cannot bear to put myself in this position; and yet, will it be right to let her go alone? Will they not blame me for that, too? Oh, how I wish I could speak to Mr. Sefton; but he is away. What shall I do? I must decide. It seems such a little thing to pray about, and yet little things bring big consequences. No, I can't moralize; I am too worried. Why can I not see the right thing to do at once?"

Bessie sat and reflected a moment, and then a sudden impulse came to her, and she opened her blotting-case, and wrote a few hurried lines.

"Dear Mrs. Sefton," she wrote, "I am so troubled, I hardly know what to do. Edna has just told me that she intends to drive over to Staplehurst after luncheon to see polo played, and has asked me to accompany her. I cannot induce her to give it up. Please do not think that I have not tried. I know how much you and Mr. Sefton were against it; but I do not think you would wish me to stay behind. She ought not to go alone. I feel you will be less anxious if I go with her." Bessie dashed off these few lines, and then dressed herself hurriedly; but before she had half finished the gong sounded.

As she ran downstairs she met Dixon, the butler, coming out of the dining-room, and putting the note in his hand, begged that he would give it to his mistress directly she returned.

"Certainly, ma'am," replied Dixon civilly; and it struck Bessie that he looked at her in an approving manner. He was an old servant, too, and most likely was accustomed to his young mistress' vagaries. "We expect my mistress home at six, and I will take care she gets the note," he continued, as he opened the door for her.

CHAPTER XIV.

BESSIE SNUBS A HERO.

"So you are going, after all?" was the only remark made by Edna, as she caught sight of Bessie's gray gown. "Well, be quick; I have nearly finished my luncheon. I thought you were never coming, and there was no time to lose."

"I will not keep you waiting," returned Bessie, whose healthy young appet.i.te failed her for once. "I am not hungry."

"Nonsense?" said Edna, with restored good-humor. "You will find this mayonnaise excellent. You have had a long ride, and the drive to Staplehurst will take nearly an hour. We shall have a lovely afternoon for our expedition."

Edna was chatting in her old lively fashion. She really looked exquisitely pretty this afternoon, and she seemed to take a delight in her own naughtiness. Her eyes sparkled mischievously every time she looked at Bessie's grave face. She was as frisky as a young colt who had just taken his bit between his teeth and had bolted. Her spirits seemed to rise during her long drive, and she talked and laughed without intermission.

Bessie tried to respond and to make herself agreeable, but her efforts failed signally. She looked forward to the afternoon as a long martyrdom to be endured; the thought of Mrs. Sefton's and Richard's reproachful faces came between her and all enjoyment. Edna took no notice of her unusual gravity; she had gained her end, and obliged Bessie to bear her unwilling company, and so she was satisfied. It was almost a relief to Bessie when the drive was over, and they found themselves at Staplehurst.

Polo was to be played in a large park-like meadow belonging to Staplehurst Hall. As they drove in at the gate, two or three of the officers who were to play were walking about in their bright silk jerseys, while their ponies followed them, led by their grooms. One came up at once, and greeted the young ladies.

"I was on the lookout for you, Miss Sefton," he observed, with a smile that he evidently intended to be winning, but which Bessie thought was extremely disagreeable. "I knew you would not disappoint me, even if Sefton proved obdurate."

"Richard had some stupid farming engagement," returned Edna, "so I brought Miss Lambert instead. Is your mother on the ground, Captain Grant?"

"Yes; let me take you to her," he replied, with alacrity; but it was some time before Jack and Jill made their way to the central point where the ladies were sitting. Several of the officers joined Captain Grant, and there was quite a triumphal procession through the field. Edna sat like a little queen guiding her ponies, and distributing smiles and gay speeches. Admiration and pleasure were as the breath of life to her; she was at once peremptory and gracious; she looked down at her escort with a sort of benign amus.e.m.e.nt. When Captain Grant handed her out of the low chaise, she made her way through the ladies with the air of a princess.

A tall, high-colored woman, with dark hair, and dressed in rather bad taste, held out her hand and welcomed her warmly.

"My dear, I am so glad to see you; Jem told me you were sure to come. Is this Miss Lambert? Put those chairs closer, Jem. And so your mother could not come. Never mind; I am used to chaperoning young ladies, though I never had girls of my own."

Edna answered civilly, but Bessie soon perceived that Mrs. Grant's conversation was not exactly to her taste. She spoke in a loud voice, and as most of her remarks were about her boy Jem, as she called him, his extraordinary cleverness and good luck at polo, and his merits as a son and officer, it was extremely desirable that they should not be overheard, but Mrs. Grant seemed quite indifferent to the amused looks of the ladies round her, and her broad, good-natured face beamed with smiles as Jem made a fine stroke and won the goal.

"He rides better than any of the men," she exclaimed proudly. "I'll back my boy against any of them. Oh, look, Miss Sefton, Singleton has. .h.i.t the ball away--no, Jem is galloping after him, he means to carry it.

Yes--no--yes! they are through! Bravo, Jem, bravo!" and Mrs. Grant clapped her hands excitedly.

In spite of her uneasiness, it was impossible for Bessie not to become first interested and then absorbed in the game, and for a little while she forgot all about The Grange. She had never seen polo played before, and she was carried away by the excitement of that fascinating but perilous game; the mad rush of the horses across the gra.s.s, the quick strokes of the players, the magnificent riding, and the ease and grace with which the officers guided their ponies and leaned over their saddles to strike the ball; the breathless moment when young Singleton rode alone with all the others pursuing him wildly; no wonder Bessie felt enthralled by the novelty of the sight. She uttered a little scream once when the horses and riders all crushed together in a sort of confused melee.

"Is any one hurt?" she exclaimed in much distress; but Edna and Mrs.

Grant only laughed.

"You must come with me and have some tea," observed Mrs. Grant, when the match was over. "My lodgings are just by."

Edna hesitated for a moment, and Bessie touched her arm.

"It is already five," she whispered. "Do you see those dark clouds? We shall have a thunder-shower soon; I think it would be better to start for home."

"And be caught in the rain," replied Edna, with a shrug. "And we have no umbrellas nor waterproofs. No, Bessie; we must take refuge at Mrs.

Grant's until the shower is over. Come along; don't make a fuss. I do not want to go any more than you do, but it is no use getting wet through; we cannot help it if we are late for dinner." And so saying, Edna again joined the talkative Mrs. Grant.

Bessie said no more, but all her uneasiness returned as she followed Edna. Mrs. Grant had temporary lodgings in the High Street, over a linen-draper's shop. She ushered her young guests into a large untidy looking room with three windows overlooking the street. One or two of the other ladies joined them, and one officer after another soon found their way up the steep little staircase, for Mrs. Grant was noted for her hospitality. She called Edna to help her at the tea-table, and Bessie seated herself by one of the windows. No one took much notice of her; her good-natured partner at tennis, Leonard Singleton, was not among Mrs. Grant's guests.

Captain Grant brought her some tea, and offered her cake and fruit, but he soon left her to devote himself exclusively to Miss Sefton. Bessie felt very dull, and out in the cold, and yet she had no wish to join the gay group round the tea-table. The room felt close and oppressive; the first heavy drops were pattering on the window; two or three children were running down the street with a yellow dog barking at their heels.

"You will get wet; shall I close the window?" observed a voice behind her, and Bessie started and looked round at the tall, solemn-looking young officer who had been introduced to her two hours previously as "Captain Broughton, not of ours, Miss Lambert."

"Oh, no, I prefer it open, it is so warm," replied Bessie hastily.

"Oh, ah, yes! Are you fond of polo?"

"I never saw it played until this afternoon; it is very exciting, but I am sure it must be dangerous."

"Nothing to speak of; an accident now and then--man half killed last Thursday, though."

"Oh, dear, how dreadful!"

The solemn-faced officer relaxed into a smile.

"Well, he might have been killed outright in battle, don't you know; accidents will happen now and then; it is just luck, you see, and Owen always is such an unlucky beggar."

Bessie refuted this with some vivacity. She explained that though it might be a man's duty to die for his country, it was quite another thing to imperil a valuable life on a mere game; but she could make no impression on the solemn-faced captain.

"But it is an uncommonly good game, don't you know," he persisted; and Bessie gave up the point, for Captain Broughton's mind seemed as wooden as his face.

"It was no good talking to such a man," she observed to Edna, as they drove home; "he said 'Don't you know' at the end of every sentence, and seemed so stupid."

"Are you talking about Captain Broughton?" asked Edna calmly. "My dear Daisy, it is not always wise to judge by appearances. Captain Broughton is not specially amusing in conversation, but he is a brave fellow. Do you know, he wears the Victoria Cross for his gallantry in saving a wounded soldier; only a private too. Yes; though he was wounded himself, he carried him off the field. He was a village lad--one of his own tenants--who had followed him out to India, and when another ball struck him he just staggered on."

"Oh, dear," groaned Bessie; "this is a punishment to me for judging too quickly. To think I had the opportunity for the first time in my life of talking to a hero, and that I called him stupid! This is a case of entertaining angels unawares. But if one could only know they were angels."

Edna only laughed at this; but Bessie found food for uncomfortable reflection all the way home. The rain had ceased at last, but not before Edna had grown secretly conscious of the lateness of the hour. It was nearly seven before the weather allowed them to start, and for the last half hour she had stood at the window quite oblivious of Captain Grant's entreaties that she would make herself comfortable, and evidently deaf to his unmeaning compliments for she answered absently, and with a manner that showed that she was ill at ease.

The moment the rain ceased, she asked him peremptorily to order her pony-chaise round.