The Honorable Miss: A Story of an Old-Fashioned Town by L. T. Meade (online e reader .TXT) 📗

impulsive girl was standing by the despised Matty, talking to her in a cheery and affectionate voice, and making fresh arrangements for the pleasure and satisfaction of all three.

"By Jove, she's a fine creature!" thought the captain. "I don't mind how much I see of her—but as to the rest of this motley herd, my mother is quite right in not letting the girls have anything to do with them. I suppose I put my foot in it bringing them here to-night. Well, that can't be helped now. I hope Miss Beatrice will soon come back. Her eyes flashed when I said even a word against those terrible little friends of hers. I should like her eyes to flash at me again. I suppose she'll soon return. She promised to be my partner in the next set at tennis. That girl doesn't care a bit for fine speeches. She won't take a compliment even when it is offered to her—won't stretch out her hand for it or touch it. Cool? I should think she is cool. Might have been through two or three London seasons. What a queer lot surround her! And how unlike them she is. There's the old mother—I had better go and talk to her. She's quite as vulgar as the rest, but somehow she doesn't jar on a man's nerves like those charming Miss Bells. Positively, I should have a fever if I talked much longer to them. My first love, too! I'm to tell them about her. Oh, yes, that's so likely."

Again the angry flame mounted to Captain Bertram's thin cheek. He strolled across the grass, and joined his hostess.

"Now I call this a shame!" exclaimed the good lady, "you don't tell me that you are all by yourself, captain, and no one trying to make themselves agreeable to you! Oh, fie! this will never do—and you, so to speak, the lion of the party."

"Pray don't say that, Mrs. Meadowsweet, I hate being a lion."

"But you can't help it, my good young sir. You, who represent our Gracious Sovereign Lady's Army. Now, where's that girl of mine? Beatrice! Trixie! Bee!"

Captain Bertram was amazed at the shrill and far-sounding quality of Mrs. Meadowsweet's voice. It distressed him, for anything not ultra refined jarred upon this sensitive young officer's nerves; but he trusted that the result would be satisfactory, and that Beatrice, whose motions he began to liken to a poem, would put in a speedy appearance.

She was talking to Mr. Jones, however, and when her mother called her, she and the curate approached together.

"Beatrice, this poor young man—Captain Bertram, the hero of the evening, is all alone. Not a soul to amuse him or entertain him."

"Mother, you mistake," answered Beatrice, "Captain Bertram is being entertained by you."

"Hoots, child! What should an old lady have to say to a gay young lad?"

"Plenty, I assure you. I am being delightfully amused," replied the captain.

He gave Beatrice an angry look which she would not see.

"I want to talk to Jane about the supper," said the young lady in a calm voice. "Captain Bertram, may I introduce you to Mr. Jones?"

Again she flew lightly away, and the captain owned to himself that the tennis party at the Gray House was a very dull affair.

Supper, however, made amends for much. The incongruous elements were not so apparent. Everybody was hungry, and even the most fastidious had to acknowledge the fare of the best. Captain Bertram quite retrieved his character in Beatrice Meadowsweet's eyes, so well did he help her in serving her guests. Matty, Alice and Sophy Bell forgave him for his abrupt departure earlier in the evening from the charms of their society, when he helped them each twice to lobster salad.

Captain Bertram was not at all averse to the charms of a small flirtation. He was forced to remain for a few days in the remote little world-forgotten town of Northbury, and it occurred to him as he helped the Bells to lobster salad, and filled up Miss Matty's glass more than once with red currant wine, that Beatrice could solace him a good deal during his exile from a gayer life. He was absolutely certain at the present moment that the best way to restore himself to her good graces was once again to endure the intellectual strain of the Bells' society. Accordingly when supper was over, and people with one consent, and all, as it were, moved by a sudden impulse, joined first in a country dance, then formed into sets for quadrilles, and finally waltzed away to the old-fashioned sound of Mrs. Meadowsweet's piano, played with vigor by the good lady herself, Captain Bertram, with a beseeching and deprecatory glance at Beatrice, who took care not to see it, led out Miss Matty Bell as his partner.

How much that young lady giggled! How badly she danced—with what rapture she threw up her round eyes at her partner's dark face, this chronicle need not record; so na�ve was she, into such ecstasies did every word spoken by the captain throw her, that he quite feared for the result.

"It is awful when a girl falls in love in five minutes!" he mentally soliloquized. "I wonder if I have satisfied Miss Meadowsweet now? I do honestly think I have done my duty by Miss Matty Bell."

So he conveyed the gushing young person back to her sisters, and sought for Beatrice who was once more frank and friendly, but gave him excellent reasons for not dancing with him.

At this moment Catherine came up and touched her brother. Her cheeks had a bright color in them, she looked animated and happy.

"Loftus, it is close on twelve o'clock. We must go home. Look at Mabel," she added, seeing her brother hesitate, "she is frightfully sleepy. Mother never allows her to be up so late. We have had a happy evening," continued Catherine, looking full into Miss Meadowsweet's face, "and we are very much obliged to you. Now I must go and say good-night to your mother."

She tripped away, and Beatrice looked after her with affectionate eyes.

"It is unkind of you not to give me one dance," said the captain.

She had forgotten his presence.

"It is not unkind," she said. "The dancing is altogether an impromptu affair, and I had to attend to my guests. I was talking to your sister, Catherine, who did not care to dance."

"Very ungenerous to me," pursued the captain. "A poor return for all my efforts to please you."

"Your efforts—pray, what efforts?"

"Did you not observe me with your friend, Miss Matty Bell? I assure you she and I are now excellent friends."

"I do not suppose in my mother's house you would be anything else, Captain Bertram."

Her tone irritated the captain. His manner changed.

"Do you think I wanted to dance with her?"

"I don't think about it. Here is your sister. I will help you to find your wraps, Catherine."

She linked her hand through Catherine Bertram's arm, and went with her into the hall. A few moments later the brother and sisters were walking quickly home.

"So you have come to Christian names already, Catherine," said Loftus.

"Yes," replied Catherine. "She is the very dearest girl. Have we not had a delightful evening?"

"Delightful, truly. How did you enjoy yourself, Mab?"

"Middling," replied Mabel. "I was with Mr. Jones, and he talked about vestments, and deplored the Rector's decision against High Church practices. He thought we were kindred souls, but we weren't, and I told him so. Then he turned crusty. I waltzed twice with Mr. Bell, and he kicked my ankle, and hurt me very much. I don't think I cared much for the party, Catherine, the people were so queer."

"Were they?" answered Catherine. "I didn't notice anything the matter with them. I talked for a short time with Mrs. Meadowsweet, and found her most interesting. She told me a lot about Beatrice. She thinks Beatrice the noblest creature in the world. As I very nearly agreed with her we got on capitally."

"What a romantic puss you are, Kate," said her brother.

She was leaning on him, and he gave her arm a playful pinch.

"You met Miss Meadowsweet on Tuesday, wasn't it? This is Friday, and she is the 'very dearest girl in the world,' and already you are Catherine and Beatrice to one another. Upon my word, hearts move rapidly towards each other in certain quarters."

"In more quarters than one," replied Kate, with an arch smile. "How you did flatter that poor little Miss Bell, Loftie. Her cheeks were like peonies while you talked to her. You certainly had an air of great tenderness, and I expect you have turned the poor little thing's head."

"Yes, Loftus," interrupted Mabel. "I remarked you, too, with Miss Bell. What a little fright she is—I never could have supposed she was in your style."

"Good gracious," began Loftus, "you didn't think—"

But Catherine in her sedate voice interrupted him.

"Beatrice and I were watching you. I laughed when I saw that expression of tenderness filling your glorious dark eyes, but I think Bee was vexed."

"Vexed? No, Kate, surely not vexed?"

"I think so, Loftus. She said to me—'I hope your brother is not laughing at my little friend, Matty Bell.' Then she added, 'I know Matty is not beautiful nor specially attractive, but she has the kindest heart.' I said perhaps you were flirting, and that I knew you could flirt. She did not make any answer, only she looked grave, and turned away when you and Miss Bell came near us."

"That accounts," began Loftus. He did not explain himself further and by-and-by the little party reached the Manor.

There was an old tumble-down lodge at the gates. It was inhabited by a very poor man, who, for the sake of getting a shelter over his head, now and then undertook to clean up and do odd jobs in the Rosendale gardens. Mrs. Bertram thought it well to have some one in the lodge, and she was pleased with the economical arrangement she had made with David Tester.

One of his duties was to lock the old gates at night. There was a small and a large gate leading into the avenue, and it was one of Mrs. Bertram's special whims that both should be locked at night. Old Tester thought his mistress foolishly particular on this point, and wondered at so close a lady going to the expense of new locks, which were sent down from London, and were particularly good and expensive.

The small gate was furnished with a latch-lock as well. This arrangement was made for Tester's convenience, so that if Mrs. Bertram and her daughters chose to be absent from home a little later than usual, he could still close the gate and go to bed.

When the girls and their brother left home that evening Catherine had not forgotten the latch-key.

"We may be late," she said, "so I will put it in my pocket."

They were late, and as they approached the old gates Catherine gave the key to Mabel, who hastened to fit it into the lock of the side gate.

To her surprise it opened at a touch.

"Kate!" exclaimed the young girl, "Tester has been very careless; he has never closed the side gate."

"I will call him up and speak to him now," said Catherine, who had a certain touch of her mother's imperious nature. "He shall do it now. Mother is always most particular about the gates, and she ought not to be disobeyed in her absence."

Catherine was running across the avenue to wake old Tester when Loftus laid his hand on her arm.

"You really are too absurd, Kitty," he said. "I simply won't allow that poor, infirm, old man to be got out of his bed for such a ridiculous reason. Who cares whether the gates are locked, or not locked?"

"Mother cares," said Catherine, her eyes flashing.

"Now, Kate, you must use your common-sense. That fad about locking the gates is a pure and simple whim on the mother's part. Of course we'll humor it, but not to the extent of waking up old Tester. Come, Kitty, you shall give the old man any amount of blowing up in the morning, only now you really must leave him alone."

"I'm going on," said Mabel; "I can scarcely keep my eyes open. Will you come with me, Loftie? If Kate likes to stay by herself with the dark trees and the ghosts, why, let her. I'm off to bed."

She ran laughing and singing up the old avenue.

Loftus turned to resume his argument with Catherine, Mabel's gay voice echoed more faintly as she ran on. Suddenly it stopped. Patter, patter, came back the swift feet, and, trembling and shivering, she threw herself into Loftus's arms.

"I heard something—there's something in the avenue!"

The moon was shining, and showed Mabel's face as white as a sheet.

"You silly child,"