The Honorable Miss by L. T. Meade

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"I don't want to keep him back," she said, in a broad whisper to the
young lady, who was helping her to alight on the steps. "He's over head
and ears, and I thought we would give them their chance. You stay close
to me, lovey. What a fine strong arm you have! There! Alice hasn't a bit
of gumption--as if Matty wanted Alice to walk with her! Alice, come back
and help your mother. I'm quite giddy from the motion of the water. Come
back, child, I say!"

But it was not Alice who turned. Captain Bertram, with the most gracious
gallantry, proffered his arm to the fat old lady, and while he helped
her to the house looked again and again at Beatrice.

CHAPTER XIV.

AT HER GATES.

Mr. Bell was as thin as his wife was fat, and as quiet and unassuming as
she was bumptious and talkative. On the occasion of this memorable
supper he very nearly drove his better half into fits by his utter want
of observation.

"It's that that worries me in Bell," the good woman was often heard to
say. "When a thing is as plain as the nose on his face he won't see it.
And not all my hints will make him see it. Hints!--You might hint
forever to Bell, and he wouldn't know what you were driving at."

These remarks Mrs. Bell had made, times without number, concerning her
spouse, but never had ehe more cause to give utterance to them than on
the present occasion. For just when the whole party were seated at
supper, and she by the boldest manoeuvres had placed Captain Bertram
next to herself by the coffee-tray, and had planted Matty at his other
side, so that he was in a measure hemmed in, and if he did not talk to
Matty had no one to fall back on but herself, who, of course, would
quickly, using the metaphor of battledore and shuttlecock, toss him back
to her daughter--having arranged all this, what should Bell do but put
his foot in it?

"Captain Bertram," he called in his thin voice across the table, "I hope
you enjoyed your row, and I'm proud to see you at my humble board. But
come up here, my good young sir; you're quite smothered by the missis
and the teacups. We have fine room at this end, haven't we, Beatrice?
You come away up here, Captain Bertram, where you'll have room to use
your elbows; the missis mustn't keep you to herself altogether, that
ain't fair play."

"Oh, we're as comfortable as possible, Peter," almost screamed Mrs.
Bell.

But in vain. The captain was too acute a person not to seize this
opportunity. He said a courteous word or two to Mrs. Bell, apologized
for having already crowded her, smiled at Matty, and then with a light
heart seated himself beside Beatrice.

After this, matters seemed to go wrong as far as the Bells were
concerned. It is true that after supper Beatrice called Matty to her
side, and looked over a photographic album with her, and tried hard to
draw her into the gay conversation and to get her to reply to the light
repartee which Captain Bertram so deftly employed. But, alas for poor
Matty she had no conversational powers; she was only great at
interjections, at ceaseless giggling, and at violent and uncontrollable
fits of blushing. Even Beatrice felt a sense of repulsion at the very
open way in which Matty played her innocent cards. Matty was in love,
and she showed it by voice, look and gesture. Beatrice tried to shield
her, she was mortified for her, and felt a burning sense of resentment
against the captain.

In spite, however, of the resentment of the one girl, and the too
manifest admiration of the other, this hero managed to have pretty much
his own way. Beatrice had to reply to his sallies, she was forced to
meet his eyes; now and then even he drew a smile from her.

When the time came for Miss Meadowsweet to go home, Albert Bell was
eagerly summoned to accompany her.

"This is unnecessary," said the captain; "I will see Miss Meadowsweet
back to the Gray House."

"Oh, now, Captain! Bee, don't you think it's really too much for him?"

"Of course I don't, dear Mrs. Bell," said Beatrice, stopping the good
lady's lips with a kiss; "but Albert shall come too, so that I shall be
doubly escorted."

She nodded and smiled to her hostess, and Mrs. Bell felt a frantic
desire to send Matty with her brother, but some slight sense of decorum
prevented her making so bare-faced a suggestion.

Albert Bell was very proud to walk with Beatrice, and Captain Bertram
felt proportionately sulky. To Albert's delight, who wanted to confide
his own love affairs to Bee, the captain said good-night at the top of
the High Street.

"As you have an escort I won't come any further," he said. "When are we
to see you again? Will you come to the Manor to-morrow?"

"I don't know," said Beatrice, "I've made no plans for to-morrow."

"Then come to us; Catherine told me to ask you. Our tennis court is in
prime order. Do come; will you promise?"

"I won't quite promise, but I'll come if I can."

"Thanks; we shall look out for you."

He shook hands, gave her an earnest glance, nodded to Bell and turned
away. His evening had been a partial success, but not a whole one. He
left Beatrice, as he almost always did, with a sense of irritation. It
was her frank and open indifference that impelled him to her side.
Indifference when Captain Bertram chose to woo was an altogether novel
experience to so fascinating an individual. Hitherto it had been all the
other way. He had flirted many times, and with success. Once even he had
fallen in love; he owned to himself that he had been badly hit, but
there had been no doubt at all about his love being returned, it had
been given back to him in full and abundant measure. He sighed to-night
as he thought of that passionate episode. He remembered ardent words,
and saw again a face which had once been all the world to him.
Separation had come, however; his was not a stable nature, and the old
love, the first love, had given place to many minor flirtations.

"I wonder where my old love is now," he thought, and then again he felt
a sense of irritation as he remembered Beatrice. "She is quite the
coolest girl I have ever met," he said to himself. "But I'll win her
yet. Yes, I'm determined. Am I to eat the bread of humiliation in vain?
Faugh! Am I to make love to a creature like Matty Bell in the vain hope
of rousing the envy or the jealousy of that proud girl? I don't believe
she has got either envy or jealousy. She seemed quite pleased when I
spoke to that wretched little personage, although she had the grace to
look a trifle ashamed for her sex when Miss Matty so openly made love to
me. Well, this is a slow place, and yet, when I think of that
haughty--no, though, she's not haughty--that imperturbable Beatrice
Meadowsweet, it becomes positively interesting.

"Why has the girl these airs? And her father kept a shop, too! I found
that fact out from Matty Bell to-day. What a spiteful, teasing little
gnat that same Matty is, trying to sting her best friend. What a little
mock ridiculous air she put on when she tried to explain to me the
social status of a coal merchant (I presume Bell is a coal merchant)
_versus_ a draper."

As Bertram strolled along, avoiding the High Street, and choosing the
coast line for his walk, he lazily smoked a pipe, and thought, in that
idle indifferent way with which men of his stamp always do exercise
their mental faculties, about his future. His past, his present, his
possible future rose up before the young fellow. He was harassed by
duns, he was, according to his own way of thinking, reduced to an almost
degrading state of poverty. His mother had put her hand to a bill for a
considerable amount to save him. He was morally certain that she would
have to meet that bill, and when she met it that she would be half
ruined. Nevertheless, he felt gay, and light at heart, for men of his
class are seldom troubled with remorse.

Presently he reached the lodge gates. His mother's fad about having them
locked was always religiously kept, and he grumbled now as he sought for
a latch-key in his waistcoat-pocket.

He opened the side gate and let himself in; the gate had a spring, and
was so constructed that it could shut and lock itself by the same act.
Bertram was preparing to walk quickly up the avenue when he was startled
by a sudden morement; a tall slim apparition in gray came slowly out of
the darkness, caused by the shadow of the lodge, to meet him.

"Good God!" he said; and he stepped back, and his heart thumped hard
against his breast.

"It's me, Loftus--I'm back again--I'm with you again," said a voice
which thrilled him.

The girl in gray flung her arms around his neck, and laid her head of
red gold on his breast.

"Good God! Nina! Josephine! Where have you come from? I was thinking of
you only tonight. It's a year since we met. Where have you sprung from?
Out of the sky, or the earth? Look at me, witch, look in my face!"

He put his hand under her chin, raised her very fair oval face; (the
moonlight fell full on it--he could see it well); he looked long and
hungrily into her eyes, then kissed her eagerly several times.

"Where have you come from?" he repeated. "My God! to think I was walking
to meet you in such a calm fashion this evening."

"You never were very calm, Loftie, nor was I. Feel my heart--I am almost
in a tempest of joy at meeting you again. I knew you'd be glad. You
couldn't help yourself."

"I'm glad and I'm sorry. You know you intoxicate me, witch--I thought I
had got over that old affair. What: don't flash your eyes at me. Oh,
yes, Nina, I am glad, I am delighted to see you once again."

"And to kiss me, and love me again?"

"Yes, to kiss you and love you again."

"How soon will you marry me, Loftie?"

"We needn't talk about that to-night. Tell me why you have come, and
how. Where is your grandfather? Do you still sing in the streets for a
living?"

"Hush, you insult me. I am a rich girl now."

"You rich? What a joke!"

"No, it is a reality. Riches go by comparison, and Josephine Hart has an
income--therefore she is rich compared to the Josephine who had none.
When will you marry me, Loftie?"

"Little puss! We'll talk of that another day."

He stroked her cheek, put his arm around her waist and kissed her many
times.

"You have not told me yet why you came here," he said.

She laughed.

"I came here because my own sweet will directed me. I have taken rooms
here at this lodge. The man called Tester and his wife will attend on
me."

"Good gracious! at my mother's very gates Is that wise, Nina."

"Wise or unwise I have done it."

"To be near me?"

"Partly."

"Nina, you half frighten me. You are not going to do me an injury? It
will prejudice my mother seriously if she finds out my--my--"

"Your love for me," finished Josephine.

"Yes."

"Why will it prejudice her?"

"Need I--must I tell you? My mother is proud; she--she would almost
disown me if I made a _mesalliance_."

Nina flung back her head.

"You talk like a boy," she said. "When you marry me you save, not
degrade, yourself. Ah, I know a secret. Such a secret! Such a blessed,
blessed, happy secret for me. It is turning me into a good girl. It
causes my heart to sing. When I think of it I revel in delight; when I
think of it I could dance: when I remember it I could shout with
exultation."

"Nina, what do you mean?"

"Nothing that you must know. I rejoice in my secret because it brings me
to you, and you to me. You degrade yourself by marrying me? You'll say
something else some day. Now, goodnight. I'm going back to Tester. He's
stone deaf, and he's waiting up for me. Good-night--good-night. No,
Loftus, I won't injure you. I injure those I hate, not those I love."

She kissed her hand to him. He tried to catch the slim fingers to press
them to his lips, but with a gay laugh she vanished, shutting the lodge
door after her. Loftus Bertram walked up the avenue with the queerest
sensation of terror and rejoicing.

CHAPTER XV.

JOSEPHINE LOOKED DANGEROUS.

In those days after her mysterious and secret visit to London Mrs.
Bertram was a considerably altered woman. All her life hitherto she had
enjoyed splendid health; she was unacquainted with headaches; neuralgia,
rheumatism, gout, the supposed banes of the present day, never troubled
her.

Now, however, she had absolutely an attack of the nerves. Mabel found
her mother, on coming to wish her good-morning one day, shivering so
violently that she could not complete her dressing. Loftus was not at
home. He had rejoined his regiment for a brief spell, so Catherine and
Mabel had to act on their own responsibility.

They did not hesitate to send for the local doctor.

Dr. Morris, who was calmly shaving in his bedroom was very much excited
when his wife rushed in to tell him that he was summoned in haste to the
Manor.

"And you might peep into the Manor drawing-room on your way downstairs,
doctor," whispered the good lady, in her muffled tone, "and find out if
the carpet is really felt. Mrs. Gorman Stanley swears that it is, but
for my part I can scarce give credence to such an unlikely story, for
surely no woman who could only afford a felt covering for the floor of
her best sitting-room would give herself the airs Mrs. Bertram has
done."

"Just see that my black bag is ready, Jessie," was the husband's retort
to this tirade. "And you might hurry John round with the pony-chaise."

Dr. Morris felt intensely proud as he drove off to see his august
patient. He drew up his rough pony once or twice to announce the fact to
any stray passer-by.

"Good-day, Bell,--fine morning, isn't it? I'm just off to the Manor.
Mrs. B. not quite the thing. Ah, I see Mrs. Jenkins coming down the
street. I must tell her that I can't look in this morning."

He nodded to Mr. Bell, and drove on until he met the angular lady known
by this name.

"Good-morning, good-morning," he called in his cheery tones, and
scarcely drawing in the pony at all now. "I meant to look round in the
course of the forenoon to see how the new tonic agrees with Miss Daisy;
but I may be a little late; I'm summoned in haste to the Manor."

Here he touched his little pony's head with the whip, and, before Mrs.
Jenkins could utter a word of either astonishment or interest, had
turned the corner and was out of sight.

The fashionable disease of nerves had not yet become an epidemic at
Northbury, and Dr. Morris was a little puzzled at the symptoms which his
great patient exhibited. He was proud to speak of Mrs. Bertram as his
"great patient," and told her to her face in rather a fulsome manner
that he considered it the highest possible honor to attend her. He
ordered his favorite tonic of cod liver oil, told her to stay in bed,
and keep on low diet, and, having pocketed his fee drove away.

Mrs. Bertram was outwardly very civil to the Northbury doctor, but when
he departed she scolded Catherine and Mabel for having sent for him,
tore up his prescription, wrote one for herself, which she sent to the
chemist to have made up, and desired Catherine to give her a glass of
port wine from one of a treasured few bottles of a rare vintage which
she had brought with her to Rosendale.

"It was a few days after her visit to the Meadowsweets that Mrs. Bertram
had been taken ill. She soon became quite well again, and then rather
astonished Catherine by telling her that she had herself seen Beatrice
Meadowsweet; that she had found her daughter's judgment with regard to
her to be apparently correct, and that, in consequence, she did not
object to Beatrice visiting at the Manor.

"You may make Miss Meadowsweet your friend," she said to both girls.
"She may come here, and you may sometimes go to see her. But remember,
she is the only Northbury young lady I will admit into my society."

A few days afterwards, Loftus, who had again managed to obtain leave of
absence from his military duties, reappeared on the scenes. As has been
seen, Loftus would admit of no restrictions with regard to his
acquaintances, and after the remarkable fashion of some young men, he
tried to secure an interest in the affections of Beatrice by flirting
with Matty Bell.

Mrs. Bertram knew nothing of these iniquities on the part of her son. It
never entered even into her wildest dreams that any son or daughter of
her could associate with people of the stamp of the Bells. Even had she
been aware of it, however, she knew better than to try to coerce her
captain.

She had quite worries enough of her own, poor woman, and not the least
of them, in the eyes of the girls, was the fresh mania she took for
saving. Meals had never been too plentiful at Rosendale. Now, the only
remark that could be made in their favor was that they satisfied hunger.
Healthy girls will eat any wholesome food, and when Loftus was not at
home, Catherine and Mabel Bertram made their breakfast off porridge.

Mabel ate hungrily, and grumbled not a little. Catherine was also
hungry, but she did not grumble. She was never one to care greatly for
the luxuries of life, and all her thoughts now were taken up watching
her mother. The effect of her mother's sudden confidence in her, the
effect of the trouble which had undoubtedly come to her mother had
altogether an extraordinary influence over Catherine. She ceased to be a
wild and reckless tom-boy, she ceased to defy her mother in small
matters; her character seemed to gain strength, and her face, always
strong in its expression and giving many indications of latent power of
character, looked now more serious than gay, more sweet and thoughtful
than fastidious and discontented.

Catherine had plenty of tact, and she watched her mother without
appearing to watch her. She was loyal, too, in heart and soul, and never
even hinted to others of the confidence reposed in her.

It was a lovely summer's morning. Catherine and Mabel were up early;
they were picking raspberries to add to the meagre provisions for
breakfast. It was always difficult to manage a pleasant breakfast hour
when Loftus was at home. Mrs. Bertram used to flush up painfully when
Loftus objected to the viands placed before him, and Catherine was most
anxious to spare her mother by satisfying the fastidious tastes of her
brother.

"Why should Loftus have all the raspberries?" angrily queried Mabel. "I
should like some myself, and so would you, Kate. Why should Loftus have
everything?"

"Nonsense, May, he's not going to have everything. This plate of special
beauties is for mother."

"Well, that's quite right. Loftus and you and I can divide the rest."

"May, I'm going to whisper a secret to you. Now, don't let it out, for
the lords of creation would be so angry if they knew. But I do think in
little things girls are much greater than men. Now what girl who is
worth anything cares whether she eats a few raspberries or not. While as
to the men--I consider them nothing but crybabies about their food.
Here, Mab, race me to the house."

Mabel puffed and panted after her more energetic sister. It was a very
hot morning, and it really was aggravating of Kate to fly on the wings
of the wind, and expect her to follow.

"Kate has no thought," she muttered, as she panted along. "I shall feel
hot and messy for the day now, and there's nothing nice for me to eat
when I do get in. It's all very fine to be Kate, who, I don't think, is
mortal at all about some things, but I expect I'm somewhat of a cry-baby
too, when I see all the nice appetizing food disappearing down a certain
manly throat. Hullo, what's the matter now, Kitty?"

Catherine was standing by the window of the breakfast-room waving an
open note in her hand.

"Three cheers for you, Mabel! You may be as greedy as you please. The
knight of the raspberry plantation has departed. Read this; I found it
on my plate."

Catherine was about to toss the note to Mabel, when a hand was put
quietly over her shoulder, and Mrs. Bertram took Loftus's letter to
read.

"Mother, I didn't know you were down."

"I just came in, my dear, and heard you speaking to Mabel. What is
this?"

She stood still to read the brief lines:

"Dearest Sis,--I have had a sudden recall to Portsmouth. Will
write from there. Love to the mother and Mab.--Your affectionate
brother,

"Loftus."

Mrs. Bertram looked up with a very startled expression in her eyes.

"Now, mother, there's nothing to fret you in this," said Kate, eagerly.
"Was not Loftie always the most changeable of mortals?"

"Yes, my dear, but not quite so changeable as not to know anything at
all about a recall in the afternoon yesterday, and to have to leave us
before we are out of bed in the morning. Did anybody see Loftus go? Had
he any breakfast?"

Catherine flew away to inquire of Clara, and Mabel said in an injured
voice:

"I dare say Loftie had a telegram sent to him to the club. Anyhow, he
has all the excitement and all the pleasure. I watched him through the
spy-glass last night. He was in the Bells' boat, and Beatrice was all
alone in hers. Beatrice was talking to Loftus and the boats were almost
touching. Mother, I wish we could have a boat."

"Yes, dear, I must try and manage it for you at some future time. Well,
Catherine, have you heard anything?"

"No, mother. Loftus must have gone away very, very early. No one saw him
go; he certainly had no breakfast."

Mrs. Bertram was silent for a few moments; then, suppressing a sigh, she
said, in a would-be cheerful tone:

"Well, my loves, we must enjoy our breakfasts, even without the recreant
Loftus. Mabel, my dear, what delicious raspberries! They give me quite
an appetite."

"Kitty picked them for you, mother," said Mabel. "She has been
treasuring a special bush for you for a week past."

Mrs. Bertram looked up at her eldest daughter and smiled at her. That
smile, very much treasured by Kate, was after all but a poor attempt,
gone as soon as it came. Mrs. Bertram leant back in her chair and toyed
with the dainty fruit. Her appetite was little more than a mockery.

"It was very thoughtful of Loftus not to waken any one up to give him
breakfast," said Catherine.

Her mother again glanced at her with a shadow of approval on her worn
face. Artful Kitty had made this speech on purpose; she knew that any
praise of Loftus was balm to her mother.

After breakfast Mrs. Bertram showed rather unwonted interest in her
daughters' plans.

"It is such a lovely day I should like you to go on the water," she
said. "At the same time, I must not think of hiring a boat this summer."

"Are we so frightfully poor, mother?" asked Mab.

Mrs. Bertram's brow contracted as if in pain, but she answered with
unwonted calm and gentleness:

"I have a fixed income, my dear Mabel, but, as you know, we have come to
Northbury to retrench."

She was silent again for a minute. Then she said:

"I see nothing for it but to cultivate the Meadowsweets."

"Mother!" said Catherine. The old fire and anger had come into her
voice. Unusual as it may be with any girl brought up in such a worldly
manner, Catherine hated to take advantage of people.

"You mistake me, Kate," said her mother, shrinking back from her
daughter's eyes, as if she had received a blow. "I want you to have the
pleasure of Beatrice Meadowsweet's friendship."

"Oh, yes," replied Catherine, relieved.

"And," continued the mother, her voice growing firm and her dark eyes
meeting her daughter's fully, "I don't mean to be out in the cold, so I
shall make a friend of Mrs. Meadowsweet."

Mabel burst into a merry girlish laugh. Catherine walked across the
grass to pick a rose. Mrs. Bertram took the rose from her daughter's
hand, although she knew and Catherine knew that it was never intended
for her. She smelt the fragrant, half-open bud, then placed it in her
dress, with a simple, "Thank you, my dear."

"I am going to write a note to Mrs. Meadowsweet," she said, after a
minute or two. "I know Beatrice is coming here this afternoon. It would
give me pleasure if her mother accompanied her."

"Shall we take the note to the Gray House, mother?" eagerly asked Mabel.
"It is not too long a walk. We should like to go."

"No, my dear. You and Kate can amuse yourselves in the garden, or read
in the house, just as you please. I will write my note quietly, and when
it is written take it down to Tester at the lodge. No, thank you, my
loves, I should really like the walk, and would prefer to take it
alone."

Mrs. Bertram then returned to her drawing-room, sat down by her
davenport, and wrote as follows:

"Rosendale Manor.

"Thursday.

"Dear Mrs. Meadowsweet,--Will you and Miss Beatrice join the girls
and me at dinner this afternoon? Your daughter has already kindly
promised to come here to play tennis to-day--at least I understand
from Kate that such is the arrangement. Will you come with her? We
old people can sit quietly under the shade of the trees and enjoy
our tea, while the young folks exert themselves. Hoping to see you
both,

"Believe me,

"Yours sincerely,

"Catherine de Clifford Bertram."

Mrs. Bertram put this letter into an envelope, directed it in her
dashing and lady-like hand, and then in a slow and stately fashion
proceeded to walk down the avenue to the lodge. She was always rather
slow in her movements, and she was slower than usual to-day. She
scarcely owned to herself that she was tired, worried--in short, that
the strong vitality within her was sapped at its foundation.

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