The Honorable Miss Part 29

"Well, and what is she, Matty, when she takes your lawful sweetheart away before your very eyes? But here, we're in hailing distance, now, and I'll shout. Beatrice--Bee--Trixie!"

Beatrice turned. She came up at once to Mrs. Bell, took her hand, and asked all four why they had run so fast after her.

"For I was coming back at once," she said, in a _nave_ tone.

"Captain Bertram was kind enough to walk with me to the archery field.

Then I was coming to arrange some tennis sets."

"My girls have had no tennis yet to-day, Beatrice," said Mrs. Bell, fixing her eyes solemnly on Miss Meadowsweet. "And they are all partial to it, more especially Matty. You're a devotee to tennis too, aren't you, Captain Bertram?"

"Well, ah, no, I don't think I am," said the captain.

"You'd maybe rather have a quiet walk, then. For my part I approve of young men who are prudent, and don't care to exercise themselves too violently. Violent exercise puts you into too great a heat, and then you're taken with a chill, and lots of mischief is done that way. Bee, lend me your arm, love. I'm more recovered now, but I did have to hurry after you, and that's a fact."

Determined women very often have their way, and Mrs. Bell had the satisfaction of walking in front with Beatrice, while Captain Bertram brought up the rear in Matty's company.

Sophy and Alice Bell no longer belonged to the group. They had found matters so intolerably dull that they started off on their own hook to find partners for tennis.

Mrs. Bell, as she walked in front with Beatrice heard Matty's little and inane giggles, and her heart swelled within her.

"Poor young man, he is devoted," she whispered to her companion. "Ah, dear me, Beatrice, I know you sympathize with me; when one has a dear child's fate trembling in the balance it's impossible not to be anxious."

Mrs. Bell's face was so solemn, and her words so portentous, that Beatrice was really taken in. It was stupid of her to misunderstand the good woman, but she did.

"Is anything the matter?" she asked, turning to look at Mrs. Bell.

"Whose fate is trembling in the balance?"

If it had been possible for light blue eyes of a very common shade and shape to wither with a look, poor Beatrice would never have got over that terrible moment.

Stout Mrs. Bell dropped her companion's arm, moved two or three paces away, and accompanied her scorching glance with words of m.u.f.fled thunder.

"Beatrice Meadowsweet, you are either green with jealousy, or you are a perfect goose."

CHAPTER XX.

YOU CAN TAKE ANY RANK.

Beatrice was not, in any sense of the word, a conventional girl. Her nature was independent, and from her earliest days she had been allowed a great deal of liberty. While her father lived he had trained her to love his tastes, to respond to his ideas; he had shared his thoughts with her, and as these thoughts happened to be original, and even slightly tinged with latent genius, the young girl had from the first taken a broad view of life. She was naturally intelligent; and to read and think for herself became a delight to her.

Mr. Meadowsweet died when Beatrice was twelve and then that further thing happened which so often makes an unselfish woman really n.o.ble.

Beatrice had to support the burdens of another. Mrs. Meadowsweet was a most loving and affectionate character; but she was not as strong mentally as her daughter. She did not know that she leant on Beatrice, but she did. The effect of all this was that Miss Meadowsweet grew up something as the wild flowers do, with perfect liberty, and yet governed by the gracious and kindly laws which nature sets about her children.

Beatrice did not know what it was to be proud of her reputed wealth.

When she looked at her sweet face in the gla.s.s she was not vain of it.

Altogether, she was a very simple-hearted girl, as yet untouched by real trouble, for, except when her father died, its shadow had not approached her.

The pa.s.sionate, childish sorrow for her father was no longer poignant.

She revered his memory, she loved to dwell on his gentleness and goodness, and in her own manner she tried to plant her young footsteps in his.

On the morning after the Rector's feast, Beatrice sat at home and waited for Captain Bertram. She almost always wore white in the hot days, and she was in white now. She chose natural flowers as her invariable adornment, and two crimson roses were now daintily fastened into her girdle.

Beatrice could not help wondering what special thing Captain Bertram had to communicate. She was not particularly troubled or roused in any way by his admiration of her. He was certainly pleasant to talk to; she had never met a refined man of the world before, and Captain Bertram was handsome to look at, and had a charming way of saying charming nothings.

Beatrice did not object to his talking to her, but her heart had never yet in the smallest degree responded to any beat of his.

More than one young man in Northbury had fallen in love with Beatrice.

She had been very kind to these would-be lovers, and had managed skilfully to get rid of them. No man yet had secured even a small place in her affections.

"Are you going out this morning, Bee?" asked her mother. "It's very fine, and you are fond of a row on the water in the sunshine. It's wonderful to me how your skin never tans nor freckles, child. You might be out in all weathers without its doing you harm."

Mrs. Meadowsweet was seated in her arm-chair. In her hand she held a piece of knitting. She was making a quilt for Beatrice's bed. This quilt was composed of little squares of an elaborate pattern, with much honey-combing, and many other fancy and delicate st.i.tches ornamenting it. Mrs. Meadowsweet liked to feel her fingers employed over Beatrice's quilt.

"With each st.i.tch I give her a thought," she said to herself. "Beatrice will sleep soft and warm under this covering when it is finished," the old mother used to say, "for every bit of it is put together with love."

She was knitting Beatrice's quilt now, her chair drawn up as usual to face the sunny garden, and on the footstool at her feet her favorite tabby cat was curled.

"It is too hot for me to go out this morning," replied Beatrice. "So for that reason I don't go, and also for another. Captain Bertram has promised to call."

"Eh?" queried Mrs. Meadowsweet. To call, has he? Maybe you'd like to ask him to lunch, child?"

"No, mother, I don't think so."

"You can if you like, Trixie. Say the word, and I'll have a spring chicken done to a turn, and a cream, and a jelly put in hand."

"Oh, no, mother, he won't want to pay such a long call."

"Well, he's a nice young man. I have nothing to say against him, he carries himself nearly as upright as your poor father did, and he has a pleasant, affable way with old and young alike. I haven't a word to say against the young man, not a word. When he comes I'll just step into the garden, for you two young things would rather have your chatter alone.

Oh, you needn't tell me, Trixie, I know. I was young once, and I never cared to have my nonsense listened to. By the way, I might ask Captain Bertram to take a box of Eleazer's Life-pills to his poor mother. I was recommending them to her, and I'm convinced they are just the medicine for her complaint. And, Bee, I wish you'd remind me to tell Jane to send over a jug of b.u.t.termilk to the Bells. I did think that poor child Matty looked so frightfully burnt yesterday, and there's nothing like bathing the face and neck in b.u.t.termilk, to get rid of the ugly redness. My word, child, is that a ring at the hall door? Then I'll be off, but I'll be in the garden handy within call, in case you should want me, my pet."

As Captain Bertram entered the drawing-room Mrs. Meadowsweet's trailing skirts might have been seen disappearing down the steps which led from the French window to the garden. Beatrice said to herself with an inward smile:

"From the dear old mother's way, any one would suppose I was going to receive a lover," and then she raised her eyes, and a very lover-like gaze met hers.

The expression in Captain Bertram's dark eyes joined to the thought which had flown into her heart, made the young girl flush up almost painfully. This sudden blush caused the gallant wooer's heart to beat with rapture, and he instantly changed his tactics and resolved, instead of giving Beatrice a half confidence with regard to his troubles, to take the apparently unapproachable fortress by storm.

"I had a long story to tell you, but I find I can't tell it," he said.

Then he looked at her again, as he knew how momentous were the words which must follow, he turned pale.

"Sit down," said Beatrice. "Come over to the window and sit down. We have such a pretty view of the garden from here. Mother and I are very proud of our garden."

"Are you? Miss Meadowsweet, I want to say something. Look at me, will you look at me?"

"Of course I will. I expected you to say something when you called this morning. You had some sort of trouble you wanted to confide in me. What is the matter?"

"I don't feel now as if I had any trouble to confide in you. I can only say one thing."