The Honorable Miss by L. T. Meade

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She came back to the sofa where Nina sat.

"Can I do anything for you? Tell me quickly, for I earnestly desire to
help you."

"You are good," said Nina. "You have a true voice, as well as a true
face. Yes, I sent for you. I do want you to be kind to me. I want you to
take a present from me to Captain Bertram."

"A present? What?"

"This little packet. It is sealed and addressed. Inside there is a
story. That story would make Captain Bertram unhappy. I know the story;
he does not know it. On your wedding-day, after you are married, give
him this packet. When you put it in his hands, say these words, 'Nina
sent you this, Loftus, and you are to burn it.' You must promise to see
him burn the packet. What is the matter? Aren't you going to take it?"

"Yes, I will take it. Give it to me; I will put it in my pocket. Now,
wait a moment. I want to run downstairs. I will come back again."

She softly closed the door of Nina's room, rushed downstairs, and out
into the street.

Captain Bertram was passing the Bells' door when Beatrice ran up to him.

"Loftus, I want you," she said.

He turned in astonishment. He had been walking down the street, lost in
a miserable dream. Beatrice, in her sharp, clear tone awoke him. He
started, a wave of color passed over his dark face.

"Is anything wrong?" he asked, almost in alarm. "Bee, you are excited!"

"I am, fearfully. Come in, come upstairs!"

"Into the Bells' house! I don't want to visit the Bells. Beatrice, you
look strange, and oh, how lovely!"

"Don't talk of my looks. Come in, come upstairs. No, you are not to see
the Bells, nor are any of them about. Come--come at once."

She ran quickly up the stairs. He followed her, wondering, perplexed and
irritated.

"Beatrice, what is the matter?" he said, once.

"Not much--or, rather, yes, everything. Inside that room, Captain
Bertram, is one you know. Go and see her--or rather, come and see her,
with me. You know her, and once, you were, after your fashion,--a
_little_ kind."

Beatrice threw open the door.

"Nina," she said, "Captain Bertram is here,"--then she paused,--her next
words came with a visible effort--"And his heart shall choose the girl
he loves."

Beatrice walked straight across the room to the window. She heard a cry
from Nina, and something between a groan and an exclamation of joy from
Bertram.

She did not look round.

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE FEELINGS OF A CRUSHED MOTH.

"I don't think it's right for Maria to be in the room," said Mrs.
Butler. "I'll listen to all you've got to say in a moment, Mrs. Gorman
Stanley, but--Maria, will you have the goodness to leave us."

"I'd rather stay," pleaded poor Miss Maria. "I always was deeply
interested in my darling Bee, and it's dreadful to think of her being
discussed and gossiped over, and me not present. You know, Martha, you
have a sharp tongue."

"This from you, Maria? You, who eat my bread. Well! Mrs. Gorman Stanley,
you are witness to this ingratitude."

"Oh, my dear good creatures, don't quarrel," said Mrs. Gorman Stanley.

She was a very phlegmatic woman, and hated scenes.

"If I were you, Mrs. Butler, I'd let poor Miss Peters stay," she added.
"I'm sure she's quite old enough."

"Mrs. Gorman Stanley, my sister is never old enough to listen to improper
subjects. Faithless, she is, ungrateful, perverse, but her innocence at
least I will respect. Maria, leave the room."

Poor Miss Maria slipped away. As she did so, she looked exactly like a
crushed brown moth. In the passage she stopped, glanced furtively around
her, and then, shocking to relate, put her ear to the key-hole. She felt
both sore and angry; they were saying horrid things of Beatrice, and
Miss Peters loved Beatrice.

Soon she went away, and burying her face in her little handkerchief,
sobbed bitterly.

Inside the drawing-room, Mrs. Butler and Mrs. Gorman Stanley were
holding awful conclave.

"You don't say, my dear, that she took the young man up to Miss Hart's
_private_ room? And who _is_ Miss Hart? And what's all this
fuss about? No, I'm glad Maria isn't here! I always tried to do my duty
by Maria, and a scandal of this kind she must not listen to. What does
it all mean, Mrs. Gorman Stanley? Is Beatrice Meadowsweet to be married
on Tuesday, or is she not?"

"My dear friend, I can't tell you. There are all sorts of rumors about.
I was at Perry's buying a yard of muslin, when Mrs. Morris came in. She
had her mouth pursed up, and her voice perfectly guttural from
bronchitis, so I knew she was keeping something in, and I made a point
of going up to her. I said, 'you have got some news, Mrs. Morris, and
you may as well out with it.' Then she told me."

"What? Mrs. Gorman Stanley, I trust you don't feel the draught from that
window. I'll shut it if you like. But what--what did she say?"

"Well, she said some queer things. Nobody can quite make out whether Bee
is to be married or not on Tuesday. Some say that Captain Bertram is
married already, and that his wife is living in seclusion at the
Bells'."

"At the Bells'? I'll go over at once and poke that mystery out. Maria!
_Maria_! She's sure to to be eaves-dropping somewhere near. Maria,
come here quickly, I want you."

"What is it, Martha?"

The little crushed moth put in a face, which disclosed very red eyes, at
the door.

"What is it, Martha? Do you want me?"

"Ah, I thought you couldn't be far off. You'll oblige me, Maria, by
running upstairs, and fetching down my bonnet and mantle. My _old_
gloves will do, and I'll have my fur boa, for the days are turning
wonderfully chilly. Yes, Mrs. Gorman Stanley," continued Mrs. Butler,
when Miss Peters had disappeared, "I'll soon get at the bottom of
_that_ bit of gossip. Are the Bells likely people to keep a close
secret to themselves; you tell me that, Mrs. Gorman Stanley? Aren't they
all blab, blab, blab? Ah, here comes Maria--and dressed to go out, too,
upon my word? Well, miss, I suppose I must humor you! You'll have the
decency, however, to remember to turn away your head if we matrons wish
to whisper a bit among ourselves. Good-bye, Mrs. Gorman Stanley. I'll
look in if I have any news for you this evening."

"Do," said Mrs. Gorman Stanley. "I'm all a-gog to hear. It's no joke to
order a handsome dress for a chit of a girl's wedding, and then not wear
it after all. I meant to get new curtains for my back parlor, heavy
snuff-colored moreen, going a great bargain, but I had to buy the dress
instead. Well, you'll let me know the news. Good-bye."

As they were walking down the street to the Bells' house Mrs. Butler
turned sharply to her little companion:

"Maria," she said, "you are a perfect fool."

"Well, really, Martha, I--I----"

"For goodness' sake, don't begin to snivel. I hadn't finished my speech.
I'm a fool, too. We are both in the same box."

"Oh, no, Martha, you always were----"

"Folly. You needn't roll your eyes at me. Don't flatter. I said we were
both fools. I repeat it. We have been hoaxed."

"Hoaxed?" said Miss Maria, with a high staccato note of inquiry.

"Yes. Hoaxed. Hoaxed out of our wedding presents by a girl who is not
going to have a wedding at all. I miss my brooch. My throat feels naked
without it. Last week I had a hoarseness. I attribute it to the loss of
the brooch."

"I don't miss my lace," said Miss Maria. "I am glad she has it. I am
very glad she has it, wedding or no wedding, bless her sweet heart."

"Maria, your sentiments are sickly. Don't give me any more of them. Here
we are at the door now. You'll remember, Maria, my hint, and act as a
modest woman, if occasion requires."

Here Mrs. Butler souded a loud rat-tat on the Bells' hall door. The
little maid opened it rather in a fright. She poked her head out. This
was a style usually adopted by the Northbury servants.

"Is your mistress in, Hannah?"

"I don't know, Mrs. Butler, ma'am. I'll inquire, ma'am. Will you walk
in, please, ma'am."

"I will, Hannah, and so will Miss Peters. Show us into the drawing-room,
and tell your mistress we are here. If she should happen to be out we
will wait her return. You will be particular to remember that, Hannah.
We'll wait her return."

"Oh, if you please, Mrs. Butler, will you--excuse me, ma'am, but
_will_ you come into the parlor, please, ma'am?"

"Into the parlor? Why into the parlor, pray?"

"It's Miss Matty, ma'am."

"Oh! has Miss Matty become mistress of this house? And does she forbid
her mother's visitors admission to the drawing-room! Hoots, toots--I'll
soon put a stop to that sort of thing. Come on, Maria."

"But really, Martha--do stop a moment, Martha--I'm sure Hannah ought to
know best."

"Oh, indeed, yes, Miss Peters--thank you, Miss Peters--missis did give
orders most positive. These were her exact words: 'Hannah,' she said,
'the parlor is for callers. You remember that, Hannah, and the
drawing-room is for--'"

"Yes," said Mrs. Butler, sweeping round, and confronting poor little
frightened Hannah. "Who is the drawing-room for?"

"For Miss Matty, please, Mrs. Butler, ma'am. For Miss Matty and Mr.
Gusty Jenkins. They're a--they're a-lovering in the drawing-room,
ma'am."

"Then they are engaged! That rumor also reached me. Come on, Maria.
We'll go and congratulate them."

No poor little ignorant maid-of-all-work could keep Mrs. Butler back
now. She swept down the passage, followed by the shrinking, but curious
Miss Peters. She threw open the drawing-room door herself, and intruded
upon the abashed young people with a stately flourish.

"How are you, Matty?" she said. "Oh, pray don't let us disturb you. Is
that you, Augustus? I'm pleased to see you, young man. I used to dandle
you when you were an infant--good gracious, what red hair you had,
and--it hasn't changed, not at all! Now, Matty, my dear, what are you
blushing about? You have caught your young man at last, and much luck
may you both have. If--' if at first you don't succeed, try, try, try
again.' You _have_ tried again, Matty, and I congratulate you. You
may kiss me, Matty, if you like. Maria, you may kiss Matty Bell. She's
engaged to Gusty. Well, Gusty, you _are_ a sly one. Never once have
you been near my house since your return. Better employed, you will say.
Ha, ha, _I_ know young men. Marry in haste and repent at leisure.
But come over now and sit near me by this window. I shouldn't object to
a dish of gossip with you, not at all. Do you remember that day when you
had your first tooth out? How you screamed? I held your hands, and your
mother your head. You were an arrant coward, Gusty, and I'm frank enough
to remind you of the fact."

Just then, to Augustus Jenkins' infinite relief, Mrs. Bell entered the
room; he was spared any further reminiscences of his youth, and he and
Matty were thankful to escape into the garden.

After the necessary congratulations had been gone through, and Mrs. Bell
had bridled, and looked important, and Mrs. Butler had slapped her
friend on the shoulder, and given her elbow a sly poke, and in short
gone through the pleasantries which she thought becoming to the
occasion, the ladies turned to the more serious business in hand.

Mrs. Butler, who prided herself on being candid, who was the terror of
her friends on account of this said candor, asked a plain question in
her usual style.

"Maria, go to the window and look out. Now, Mrs. Bell, you answer me yes
or no to this. Has Captain Bertram a wife concealed in this house, or
has he not? In short, is my throat naked for no rhyme or reason!"

Mrs. Bell, who could not quite see what Mrs. Butler's throat had to say
to a clandestine wife of Captain Bertram's, stared at her friend with
her usual round and stolid eyes.

"I think your brain must be wandering, Martha Butler," she said. "I
don't know anything about your throat, except that it is very indelicate
to wear it exposed, and as to Captain Bertram having a wife here, do you
want to insult me after all these years, Martha?"

"I want to do nothing of the kind, Tilly Bell. I only want to get at the
naked truth."

"It was your naked throat a minute ago."

"Well, they hang together, my throat and the truth. Has that young man
got a wife in this house, or has he not?"

"He has not, Mrs. Butler, and you forfeit my friendship from this
minute."

"Oh, I forfeit it, do I? (Come, Maria, we'll be going.) Very well, Mrs.
Bell, I have forfeited your friendship, very well. And there's no young
woman who oughtn't to be here, concealed on these premises. (Maria, stay
looking out at the window for a minute.) There's no strange young woman
here, oh, of course not. Poor Bell, honest man, only _fancies_ he
has a visitor in the house."

Here Mrs. Bell turned ghastly pale. Mrs. Butler saw that she had
unexpectedly driven a nail home, and with fiendish glee pursued her
advantage.

"A visitor! oh, yes, _all the lodgings were full,_ packed! and it
was so convenient to take in a visitor a--_friend._ Hunt the baker
has been speaking about it. I didn't listen--I make it a point
_never_ to listen to gossip--but Maria--Maria, you can come here
now. Have the goodness, Maria, to tell Mrs. Bell exactly what Hunt said,
when you went in to buy the brown loaf for me last Friday."

"Oh, sister--I--I really don't remember."

"Don't remember! Piddle dumpling! You remembered well enough when you
came back all agog with the news. I reproved you for listening to idle
gossip, and you read a sermon of Blair's on evil speaking aloud to me
that night. You shall read sermon ten to-night. It's on lying. Well,
Mrs. Bell, _I_ can repeat what my poor sister has forgotten. It was
only to the effect that you and Bell must have had a windfall left you,
and _he_ never knew a visitor treated so well as you treated yours.
The dainty cakes you had to get her, and the fuss over her, and every
blessed thing paid down for with silver of the realm. Well, well,
sometimes it is _convenient_ to have a visitor. But now I must
leave. Maria, we'll be going. You have got to get to your sermon on
lying as soon as possible. Good-bye, Mrs. Bell. Perhaps you'll be able
to tell some one else why the whole town is talking about Miss
Hart--whoever Miss Hart is--and about Beatrice, and the wedding being
put off--and Captain Bertram going off into high hysterics in--(Maria,
you can go back to the window)--in a certain young lady's private room.
Now I'm off. Come, Maria."

CHAPTER XXX.

GUARDIANS ARE NOT ALWAYS TO BE ENVIED.

It would have been difficult to find a more easy-going, kind,
happy-tempered man than Mr. Ingram. He had never married--this was not
because he had not loved. Stories were whispered about him, and these
stories had truth for their foundation--that when he was young he had
been engaged to a girl of high birth, great beauty of person, and rare
nobility of mind. Evelyn St. Just had died in her youth, and Mr. Ingram
for her sake had never brought a wife home to the pleasant old Rectory.
His sorrow had softened, but in no degree soured the good man. There had
been nothing in it to sour any one--no shade of bitterness, no thread of
unfaithfulness. The Rector firmly believed in a future state of bliss
and reunion, and he regarded his happiness as only deferred. As far as
his flock knew, the sorrow which had come to him in his youth only gave
him a peculiar sympathy for peculiar troubles. To all in sorrow the
Rector was the best of friends, but if the case was one where hearts
were touched, if that love which binds a man to a woman was in any way
the cause of the distress, then the Rector was indeed aroused to give of
his best to comfort and assist.

On the evening after her strange interview with Josephine Hart, Beatrice
put on her hat, and coming down to her mother where she sat as usual in
the pleasant drawing-room, told her that she was going to see Mr.
Ingram.

"It is rather late to-night, surely, child?"

"No, mother, it is not too late. I want particularly to see Mr. Ingram
to-night."

"Are you well, Bee? Your voice sounds tired."

"I am quite well, dear mother. Kiss me. I won't stay longer away than I
can help."

She left the house. It was getting dusk now, and the distance between
the Gray House and the Rectory was not small. But no Northbury girl
feared to be out alone, and Beatrice walked quickly, and before long
reached her destination.

The Rector was in--Beatrice would find him in his study. The old
housekeeper did not dream of conducting Miss Meadowsweet to this
apartment. She smiled at her affectionately, told her she knew the way
herself, and left her.

When Beatrice entered the study the Rector got up and took his favorite
by both her hands.

"I am glad to see you, my child," he said. "I was just feeling the
slightest _soupcon_ of loneliness, so you have come in opportunely.
Sit down, Bee. I suppose Bertram will call for you presently."

Beatrice did not make any response to this remark, but she drew a little
cane chair forward and sat down.

"Except your mother, no one will miss you more than I shall when you
leave us, Beatrice," said the Rector. "You are quite right to go, my
dear. Quite right. I see a useful and honorable career before you. But I
may be allowed just once to say that I shall be lonely without my
favorite."

"Dear Rector," said Beatrice. She came a little nearer, and almost
timidly laid her hand on his knee. Then she looked in his face. "I am
not going to leave you," she said.

"God bless my soul! What do you mean, child? Is anything wrong? You
don't look quite yourself. Has that young scoundrel--if I thought--" the
Rector got up. His face was red, he clenched his hand in no clerical
style.

Beatrice also rose to her feet.

"He is not a scoundrel," she said. "Although if our engagement had gone
on, and I had been married to Captain Bertram, he would have been one."

"Then you are not engaged? You have broken it off."

"I am not engaged. I have released Captain Bertram from his engagement
to me."

"Beatrice! I did not expect this from you. His mother is attached to
you--so are his sisters, while he himself, poor lad--! Bee, it was
better you should find out your heart in time, but I am surprised--I am
grieved. You should have known it before--before things went as far as
this, my dear girl."

"Please, Mr. Ingram, listen to me. Sit down again, for I have a long
story to tell. I have not changed my mind, nor am I guilty of any
special fickleness. But circumstances have arisen which make it
impossible for me to keep my engagement. Captain Bertram sees this as
plainly as I do. He is very thankful to be released."

"Then he is a scoundrel, I thought as much."

"No, he isn't that. But he has been weak, poor fellow, and harassed, and
tempted. And his mother has used all her influence. I know now what she
wanted me for. Just for my money. But I've been saved in time."

"God bless me, this is very strange and dreadful. You puzzle me
awfully."

"I will tell you the story, Rector, then you won't be puzzled. Do you
remember once speaking to me about a girl you saw at the Manor lodge.
She was living there for a little. Her name was Hart."

"Yes, yes, a very handsome, queer girl. I spoke to Mrs. Bertram about
her. She seemed to me to have taken an unjust prejudice against the poor
lonely child."

"Mr. Ingram, Miss Hart is engaged to Loftus Bertram, and he will marry
her next Tuesday."

"Beatrice, have you gone quite mad?

"No, I am as sane as any other girl who has got a shock, but who is
resolved to do right. Captain Bertram shall marry Nina, because in heart
they are married already, because they love each other, as I never could
love him, nor he me, because they were betrothed to each other before he
and I ever met, because Nina was dying for love of him, and only
marrying him can save her. Oh, it was pitiable to see Nina, Mr. Ingram,
and I am thankful--I shall be thankful to my dying day--that I saw her
in time to save her."

"Beatrice, this is very strange and inexplicable. Where did you see Miss
Hart? I thought she had left Northbury."

"She came back, because she could not stay away. She is at the Bells'. I
saw her there to day, and I brought Loftus to her, and--Rector, they
love each other. Oh, yes, yes--when I see how much they love each other.
I am thankful I am not to be married with only the shadow of such a
reality."

"Then you never gave your heart to this young man?"

"Never! I thought I could help him. But my heart has not even stirred."

"You did not seem unhappy."

"I was not unhappy. It always gives me pleasure to help people. And
Catherine seemed so bright, and Mrs. Bertram so delighted, and Loftus
himself--there was much to win my regard in Loftus. I did not know it
was only my money they wanted."

"Poor child! And yet you are wrong. No one who looks at you, Beatrice,
can only want you for your money."

"Dear Rector, in this case my money was the charm. Well, my money shall
still have power. You are my guardian as well as my trustee. I want you
to help me. You can, you must. I will take no denial. Loftus and I have
had a long, long talk this afternoon. I have found at last the very
bottom of Bertram's heart. He came to me to save him, and I am
determined to be his deliverer. One quarter of my fortune I give to
Loftus Bertram, and he shall marry Nina, and his debts shall be paid,
and his mother relieved from the dreadful strain of anxiety she is now
undergoing, and Loftus and Nina shall be happy and good. Oh, yes, I know
they will be good as well as happy. You will help me, Rector, you will,
you must."

"Beatrice, you are the most quixotic, extraordinary, unworldly,
unpractical creature that ever breathed. What sort of guardian should I
be if I listened to so mad a scheme? What right has Loftus Bertram to
one farthing of your money, without you?"

"He can't have it with me, Rector. I would not marry him now at any
price."

"Then he must do without the money."

"No, he must have the money. Steps must be taken to secure it to him at
once, and he must keep his wedding-day with Nina instead of me. Nina
shall have my trousseau; we are exactly of one height--You have got to
change the name in the marriage license. If that is impossible there
shall be a special license. I am rich, I can pay for it. Oh, the joy
that sometimes money brings!"

"My dear ward, you are a little off your head to-night. How could you
possibly expect your guardian to be such a faithless old man."

"Faithless? Mr. Ingram, have you quite forgotten my father?"

"No, Beatrice, I remember him to-night."

"Let his face rise before you. Picture his face--his unworldly face."

"I see it, Beatrice. Yes, Meadowsweet was not cankered by the sordid
cares of life."

"Truly he was not? Go on thinking about him. He made money. How did he
spend it?"

"My dear child, your father was a very good man. His charities were
extraordinary and extensive. He gave away, hoping for nothing in return;
he was too liberal, I often told him so."

"You were his clergyman and you told him so."

A flash of indignation came out of Beatrice Meadowsweet's eyes.

"I don't think, Mr. Ingram, that a Greater than you has ever said that
to my father."

"Well, child, perhaps not. You reprove me, perhaps justly. Few of us
have your father's unworldly spirit."

"Don't you think his only daughter may inherit a little of it? Mr.
Ingram, what is money for?"

"Beatrice, you could argue any one into thinking with you. But I must
exercise my own common-sense."

"No, you must not. You must exercise your unworldly sense, and help me
in this matter."

"What! And help you to throw away a quarter of your fortune?"

"I shall have fifteen thousand pounds left, more than enough for the
requirements of any girl."

"I doubt if the wording of your father's will could give me the power
for a moment."

"I am sure it could. I am confident that in drawing his will he trusted
you absolutely and me absolutely. He often spoke to me about money, and
told me what a solemn trust riches were. He charged me like the man in
the parable not to bury my talent in a napkin, but to put it out to
usury. He said that he made you my guardian, because you were the most
unworldly-minded man he knew, and he told me many times that although he
could not give me absolute control of my money before I was twenty-one,
yet that no reasonable wish of mine would be refused by you."

"And you call this a reasonable wish?"

"I do. And so would my father if he were alive. Bring his face once
again before you, Rector, and you will agree with me."

The Rector sat down in his arm-chair, and shaded his eyes with one of
his long white hands. He sat for a long time motionless, and without
speaking. Beatrice stood by the mantelpiece; there was a small fire in
the grate; now and then a flame leaped up, and cast its reflection on
her face.

Suddenly the Rector started upright.

"What day is this?" he asked.

"Thursday--Thursday night."

"And you are to be married on Tuesday?"

"No, I may never marry. Nina Hart and Loftus Bertram are to be married
on Tuesday."

"God bless me! Beatrice, you have put me into a nice fix. Guardians are
not always to be envied. What's the hour, child?"

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