The Honorable Miss by L. T. Meade

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Sophy was the first to enter her expectant mother's presence.

"There, ma," she said, flinging the paper parcel on the table. "I hope
we have had enough of those Bertrams and their ways. The fuss I had over
that horrid parcel. I thought I'd never get it back again. In the end I
had to see Mrs. Bertram about it, and didn't she crush me just! She's an
awful woman. I never want to speak to her again all my life, and as to
the captain caring for Matty!"

"Where is Matty?" here interrupted Mrs. Bell. "She was not asked to stay
behind after all, then?"

"_She_ asked to stay behind? You speak for yourself, Matty. For my
part, I think it was very unfair to give Matty that silk. We might all
have had nice washing muslins for the price of it. Where are you, Matty?
Oh, I declare she has gone upstairs in the sulks!"

"You're in a horrid bad temper, Sophy; that I can see," expostulated the
mother. "Well, Alice, perhaps you can tell me what all this fuss is
about? I hope to goodness you gave the captain my message, child."

"I didn't see him to give it, mother," answered Alice. "He never spoke
once to us the whole time. He just shook hands when we arrived, but even
then he didn't speak."

"Captain Bertram never spoke to Matty during the entire evening?" gasped
Mrs. Bell. "Child, you can't be speaking the truth, you must be joking
me."

"I'm not, truly, mother. Captain Bertram didn't even look at Matty. He
was all the time following Beatrice Meadowsweet about like a shadow."

Mrs. Bell gave her head a toss.

"Oh, that's it, is it?" she said. "I didn't think the captain would be
so artful. Mark my word, girls, he behaved like that just as a blind to
put his old mother off the scent."

But as Mrs. Bell spoke her heart sank within her. She remembered again
how Beatrice had looked that evening in the green boat, and she saw once
more Matty's tossed locks and sunburnt hands.

After a time she went upstairs, and without any ceremony entered her
daughter's room.

Matty had tossed off the gaudy silk, and was lying on her bed. Her poor
little face was blistered with tears, and, as Mrs. Bell expressed it, it
"gave me a heart-ache even to look at her." She was not a woman,
however, to own to defeat. She pretended not to see Matty's tears, and
she made her tone purposely very cheerful.

"Come, come, child," she said, "what are you stretched on the bed for,
as if you were delicate? Now, I wouldn't let this get to Captain
Bertram's ears for the world."

"What do you mean, mother?" asked the astonished daughter.

"What I say, my love. I wouldn't let the captain know that you were so
tired as to have to lie down after a game of tennis, for a ten pound
note. Nothing puts a man off a girl so soon as to hear that she's
delicate."

"Oh, he--he doesn't care," half sobbed Matty.

"Oh, doesn't he, though? I never knew anything more like caring than for
him to be too shy to come near you. Things have gone pretty far when a
man has to blind his mother by pretending to be taken up with another
girl. I knew the captain was in love, Matty, but I did not suppose he
was deep enough to play his cards after that fashion. You get up now,
lovey, and come down, and have a nice hot cup of tea. It will revive you
wonderfully, my pet."

Matty allowed her mother to coax her off the bed, and to assist her on
with her every-day brown holland frock. She was a good deal comforted
and inclined to reconsider the position which had seemed so hopeless
half-an-hour ago.

"Only he did neglect me shamefully," she said, with a little toss of her
head. "And I don't see why I should take it from him."

"That's right, my girl. You show Captain Bertram you've got a spirit of
your own. There's nothing brings a man to the point like a girl giving
him a little bit of sauce. Next time he speaks to you, you can be as
stand-off as you please, Matty."

"Yes, mother," said Matty, in a languid tone.

She knew, however, that it was not in her nature to be stand-off to any
one, and beneath all the comfort of her mother's words she could not
help doubting if Captain Bertram would care how she behaved to him.

The next morning the Rector's invitation came for the annual treat, and
the hopes of the Bells once more rose high. On this occasion Mrs. Bell
was to accompany her daughters. Bell would also be present, but, as he
was never of much account, this small fact scarcely rested on any one's
mind. All the town was now in state of ferment. The Rector's party was
the only thing spoken about, and many were the prognostications with
regard to the weather.

The day of festival came at last; the sun arose gloriously, not a cloud
was in the sky, all the merry-makers might go in their best, and all
hearts might be jubilant. It was delightful to see Northbury on this
day, for so gay were the costumes worn by its inhabitants that as they
passed through the narrow old streets they gave the place of their birth
a picturesque and even a foreign appearance.

The Rectory was just outside the town, and, of course, all the footsteps
were bending thither. The Rector had invited his guests to assemble at
three o'clock, and punctually at a quarter to that hour Miss Peters
seated herself in her bay window, armed with a spy-glass to watch the
gathering crowd.

Miss Peters was already arrayed in her festive clothes, but she and Mrs.
Butler thought it ungenteel not to be, at least, an hour late. "The
Bertrams will be sure to be late," remarked the good lady to her sister,
"and we, too, Martha, will show that we know what's what."

"Which we don't," snapped Mrs. Butler. "We are sure and certain to be
put in the wrong before we are half-an-hour there. However, I agree with
you, Maria; we won't be among the hurryers. I hate to be one of those
who snap at a thing. Now, what's the matter? How you do startle me!"

"It's Mrs. Gorman Stanley," gasped Miss Peters; "she's in red velvet,
with a beaded bodice--and--oh, do look at her bonnet, Martha!
Positively, it's hideous. A straw-green, with blue forget-me-nots, and
those little baby daisies dropping over her hair. Well, well, how that
woman does ape youth!"

Mrs. Butler snatched the spy-glass from her sister, and surveyed Mrs.
Gorman Stanley's holiday attire with marked disapproval. She threw down
her glasses presently with a little sniff.

"Disgusting," she said with emphasis. "That woman will never see fifty
again, and she apes seventeen. For my part, I think, when women reach a
certain age they should not deck themselves with artificial flowers.
Flowers are for the young, not for poor worn-out, faded types of
humanity. Now you, Maria----"

"Oh, don't," said Miss Maria, stepping back a few paces in alarm, and
putting up her hand to her bonnet, "don't say that wallflowers aren't
allowable, Martha; I always did think that wallflowers were so
_passe_. That's why I chose them."

"Who's that now?" exclaimed Mrs. Butler. "My word, Maria, get quick
behind the curtain and peep! Give me the spy-glass; I'll look over your
head. Why, if it isn't--no--yes--it is, though--it's that young Captain
Bertram, a _most_ stylish young man! He looks elegant in flannels--quite
a noble face--I should imagine him to be the image of Julius
Caesar--there he comes--and Bee--Bee Meadowsweet with him."

"Just like her name," murmured Miss Peters; "just--just like her name,
bless her!"

The poor, withered heart of the little old maid quite swelled with love
and admiration as the beautiful girl, dressed simply all in white, with
roses on her cheeks, and sparkles in her eyes, walked to the scene of
the coming gayeties in the company of the acknowledged hero of the town.

"Poor Matty Bell, I pity her!" said Mrs. Butler. "Oh, it has been a
sickening sight the way the mother has gone on lately, perfectly
sickening; but she'll have her come down, poor woman, and I, for one,
will say, serve her right."

"We may as well be going, Martha," said Miss Peters.

"Well, I suppose so, since our betters have led the way. Now, Maria,
don't drag behind, and don't ogle me with your eyes more than you can
help. I have made up my mind to have a seat next to Mrs. Bertram at the
feast, and to bring her down a peg if I can. Now, let's come on."

The ladies left the house and joined the group of holiday-seekers, who
were all going in the direction of the Rectory. When they reached the
festive scene, the grounds were already thronged. Mr. Ingram was very
proud of his gardens and smoothly-kept lawns. He hated to see his velvet
swards trampled on and made bare by the tread of many feet. He disliked
the pet flowers in his greenhouses being pawed and smelt, and his trim
ribbon borders being ruthlessly despoiled. But on the day of the annual
treat he forgot all these prejudices. The lawns, the glass-houses, the
flower-beds, might and would suffer, he cared not. He was giving supreme
pleasure to human flowers, and for two days out of the three hundred and
sixty-five they were free to do as they liked with the vegetable kingdom
over which on every other day he reigned as monarch supreme. Marquees
now dotted the lawns, and one or two brass bands played rather shrill
music. There were tennis-courts and croquet lawns, and fields set aside
for archery. Luxurious seats, with awnings over them, were to be found
at every turn, and as the grass was of the greenest here, the trees of
the shadiest, and the view of the blue harbor the loveliest, the
Rector's place, on the day of the feast, appeared to more than one
enthusiastic inhabitant of Northbury just like fairyland.

Matty Bell thought so, as, accompanied by her sisters and mother she
stepped into the enchanted ground. The girls were in white to-day, not
well made, and very bunchy and thick of texture. But still the dresses
were white, and round each modest waist was girdled a sash of virgin
blue.

"It makes me almost weep to look at the dear children," whispered Mrs.
Bell to her husband. "They look so innocent and lamb-like, more
particularly Matty."

Here she sighed profoundly.

"I don't see why you should single out Matty," retorted the spouse.
"She's no more than the others, as far as I can see, and Sophy has the
reddest cheeks."

"That's all you know," said Mrs. Bell. Here she almost shook herself
with disdain. "Well, Peter, I often do wonder what Pas are for--not for
observation, and not for smoothing a girl's path, and helping an ardent
young lover. Oh, no, no!"

"Helping an ardent young lover, Tilly! Whatever are you talking about?
Where is he? I don't see him."

"You make me sick, Peter. Hold your tongue, do, and believe your wife
when she says that's about all you are good for. Matty's on the brink,
and that's the truth."

Poor Bell looked as mystified as he felt. Presently he slunk away to
enjoy a quiet smoke with some congenial spirits in the coal trade, and
Mrs. Bell marshalled her girls to as prominent a position as she could
find.

It was her object to get on the terrace. The terrace was very broad, and
ran not only the length of the front of the house, but a good way beyond
at either side. At each end of the terrace was a marquee, decorated with
colored flags, and containing within the most refined order of
refreshments. On the terrace were many seats, and the whole place was a
blaze of gay dresses, brilliant flowers, and happy, smiling faces.

It was here the _elite_ of the pleasure-seekers evidently meant to
congregate, and as Mrs. Bell intended, on this occasion at least, to
join herself to the select few, her object was to get on the terrace.
She had not at first, however, the courage to mount those five sacred
steps uninvited. The battery of eyes which would be immediately turned
upon her would be greater than even her high spirit could support. Mr.
Ingram had already spoken to her, she did not know Mrs. Bertram,
although she felt that if Catherine or Mabel were near she might call to
one of them, and make herself known as Matty's mother.

Catherine and Mabel were, however, several fields away engaged in a
vigorous game of archery. Mrs. Bell raised her fat face, and surveyed
the potentates of the terrace with anxiety.

"Keep close to me, Matty," she said to her eldest daughter. "Don't go
putting yourself in the background. It isn't becoming, seeing what will
be expected of you by-and-by. Now I wonder where the captain is! Mr.
Ingram is sure to make a fuss about those Bertrams, and that young man
will be expected to be at the beck and call of everybody all day long.
But never you mind, Matty, my pet. He shall have his chances, or my name
is not Tilly Bell."

"I wish ma wouldn't," whispered Sophy to Alice. "I don't believe Captain
Bertram cares a bit for Matty. Now, what are we all going to do! Oh,
dear, I quite shake in my shoes. Ma is awfully venturesome, and I know
we will be snubbed."

"Come on, girls," said Mrs. Bell looking over her shoulder. "What are
you loitering for? I see Mrs. Gorman Stanley at the back there, by one
of the big refreshment booths. I'm going to make for her."

"Oh, ma, she doesn't care a bit for us."

"Never mind, she'll do as an excuse. Now let's all keep close together."

Amongst the select company on the terrace Mrs. Bertram of course
found a foremost place. She was seated next to Lady Verney, whose
daughter, the Lady Georgiana Higginbotham also stood near, languidly
pulling a splendid gloire de Dijon rose to pieces. She was a tall,
sallow-faced girl, with the true aristocratic expression of
"I-won't-tell-you-anything-at-all" stamped on her face. She was to be
married the following week, and had all the airs of a bride-elect.

This young lady raised her pince nez to watch the Bells as they ascended
the steps.

"Who _are_ those extraordinary people?" she whispered to her mother.

"I'm sure I don't know, my dear. How intolerably hot it is. Really our
good Rector ought not to ask us to submit to the fierce rays of the sun
during this intense weather. Georgiana, pray keep in the shade. Yes,
Mrs. Bertram, you must find the absence of all society a drawback here."

"I sha'n't stay here long," responded Mrs. Bertram. "Catherine is still
so young that she does not want society. Ah, there is Loftus. I should
like to introduce him. Loftus, come here."

Captain Bertram, raising his hat to the Bells as he passed, approached
his mother's side. He was introduced in due form to Lady Verney and the
Lady Georgiana, and the two young people, retiring a little into the
background, began to chat.

"Who are those extraordinary folk?" asked Lady Georgiana of her
companion.

She waved her fan in the direction of Mrs. Bell's fat back.

"Do you know them, Captain Bertram?"

His eyes fairly danced with mirth as he swept them over the little
group.

"I must confess something, Lady Georgiana. I do know those young ladies
and their mother. I have supped with them."

"Oh, horrors! And yet, how entertaining. What were they like?"

"Like themselves."

"That is no answer. Do divert me with an account of them all. I am sure
they are deliciously original. I should like to sketch that mother's
broad back beyond anything."

It was at this moment that Beatrice and Catherine appeared together on
the scene. Captain Bertram, who thought himself an adept in a certain
mild, sarcastic description, was about to gratify Lady Georgiana with a
graphic account of the Bells' supper-table, when his gaze met the kind,
clear, happy expression of Beatrice Meadowsweet's eyes. He felt his
heart stir within him. The Bells were her friends, and she was so good,
bless her--the best girl he had ever met. No, he could not, he would
not, turn them into fun, just to while away an idle five minutes.

Mrs. Bertram called Catherine over to introduce her to Lady Verney, and
Bertram, in a moment, was by Beatrice's side.

"This is lucky," he said. "I thought you had left me for the day."

"Why should you think that?" she replied. "It would be impossible for
people not constantly to come against each other in a small place like
this."

"May I come with you now? You seem very busy."

"You can come and help me if you feel inclined. I always have a great
deal to do at these feasts; I have been at them for years, and know all
about them, and the Rector invariably expects me to keep the ball
going."

"What ball?"

"The ball of pleasure. Each hand must grasp it--everyone must be happy.
That is the Hector's aim and mine."

"I think it is your aim not only to-day, but every day."

"Yes, if I can manage it. I can't always."

"You could always make me very happy."

Beatrice turned her eyes and looked at him. Her look made him blush.

"You are mistaken when you say that," she responded, in a grave tone.
"You are not the sort of person to be made happy by a simple country
girl like me. The Northbury people only need small things, and many
times it is within my power to supply their desires. But you are
different. You would not be content with small things."

"Assuredly not from you."

Then he paused; and as she blushed this time, he hastened to add:

"You can help me not in a small, but in a big way, and if you grant me
this help, you will save my mother, and--yes--and Catherine."

"I love Catherine," said Beatrice.

"I know it--you would like to save her."

"Certainly; but I did not know she was in peril."

"Don't whisper it, but she is. You can put things straight for her. May
I talk to you? May I tell you what I mean?"

"You look very solemn, and this is a day of pleasure. Must you talk to
me to-day?"

"I won't talk of anything to worry you today. But I may some time?"

"I suppose you may. At least it is difficult to reply in the negative to
any one who wants my help."

"That is all I need you to say. You will understand after I have spoken.
May I come to see you to-morrow?"

"Yes, you may come to-morrow. I shall be at home in the morning."

"Beatrice," said a voice, "Bee--Trixie--I do think it's unkind to cut an
old friend."

Beatrice turned.

Mrs. Bell, puffed and hot, accompanied by Matty, who was also a little
blown, and by the younger girls, looking very cross, had been chasing
Captain Bertram and Miss Meadowsweet from one lawn to another. Mrs.
Bell, after receiving a somewhat severe snubbing from Mrs. Gorman
Stanley, had just retired into the marquee to refresh herself with
strawberry ices, when Sophy, laying a hand on her mother's shoulder,
informed her in a loud whisper that Captain Bertram and Bee Meadowsweet
had gone down the steps of the terrace to the tennis lawn side by side.

"We'll make after them!" exclaimed the good lady. "Girls, don't finish
your ices; come quick."

Mrs. Bell took her eldest daughter's hand, and rushed out of the tent.
Sophy and Alice stayed behind to have one parting spoonful each of their
delicious ices. Then the whole family went helter-skelter down the five
sacred steps and on to the lawn. They saw the objects of their desire
vanishing through a gap in the hedge into a distant field. They must
pursue, they must go hotly to work. Mrs. Bell panted and puffed, and
Matty stopped once to breathe hard.

"Courage, child," said the mother. "We'll soon be up with them. I'm not
the woman to leave an innocent young man alone with that siren."

"Mother! You call Beatrice a siren?"

"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 _naive_ 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 muffled
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 noble.
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 glass 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 passionate, 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 stitches ornamenting
it. Mrs. Meadowsweet liked to feel her fingers employed over Beatrice's
quilt.

"With each stitch 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."

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