Our Bessie Part 28

"I had no one but my mother and Edna; I should have been lonely indeed.

But now I must not keep you standing any longer; the wind is cold, and you are beginning to look tired."

"Yes, and breakfast will be ready; I must not be late."

"Is Sefton with you?" he asked suddenly.

"No; he is at Oatlands; he is not coming until Sat.u.r.day week."

"I am sorry to hear it; he would have helped me in a great difficulty.

Sefton has always been my friend. Miss Lambert, I confess I don't clearly see my way. I can hardly present myself at Glenyan Mansions, and yet how am I to see Edna? If we could only meet, as it were, accidentally, it would be better for both of us."

"I see what you mean," returned Bessie, whose ready sympathy made her quick to detect his meaning "Edna is very proud; you think it would be wiser to leave her in ignorance of this interview. Yes, you are right; there must be some other way;" and then, after a moment's consideration, she added, "There is a fancy bazaar at the Pavilion this afternoon; some friends of the Sefton's are stall-holders, and we are all going; every one will be there; why should you not go too?"

"Thank you," was all he said; but his face brightened perceptibly, and then in an eager tone: "What time will you go?"

"Mrs. Sefton said she should order the carriage at half-past three, so I suppose we shall be there about a quarter to four. The Crawfords' stall is at the end of the room, and Minnie and Eleanor Crawford are to be dressed in sacques and hoops, with powdered hair, in the fas.h.i.+on of George III.'s time. Edna is very anxious to see their stall in its first glory, before there is a rush of buyers."

"You have made me your friend for life," he said lightly. "I must not go any farther, for I see the windows of Glenyan Mansions;" and then he shook hands with her, and quietly retraced his steps to his hotel.

"I wonder if mother would be shocked," thought Bessie. "I think I should have been shocked myself under any other circ.u.mstances; but when I thought of poor Edna, and saw him looking so pale and grave, I felt I must help them both. Was it very forward of me? Have I betrayed Edna's confidence? But, no; I found it all out for myself; surely, no one could blame me for speaking the truth. If Mr. Richard were here, I would ask him. Truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, after all. One cannot be wrong if only one be absolutely true."

Bessie found it very difficult to preserve her ordinary demeanor that morning. The consciousness that she had a secret oppressed her, but neither Mrs. Sefton nor Edna seemed to notice any difference in her manner. Edna looked languid and depressed, and seemed to have lost all interest in the bazaar. She alarmed Bessie in the course of the morning by saying that, after all, she did not care to mix with such a crowd.

"Oh, Edna, I shall be so disappointed if we do not go!" exclaimed Bessie.

"My dear, I was not talking about you," replied Edna wearily. "Mamma will go, of course, and you can accompany her; but I am sick of bazaars, and the noise and chatter will make my head ache. You may take my purse, Bessie, and buy something of Minnie and Eleanor;" and Edna threw down her work and began looking over the batch of novels that her mother had sent in from the circulating library, leaving Bessie to digest her dismay and disappointment as well as she could.

CHAPTER XXII.

BESSIE BUYS A j.a.pANESE FAN.

Edna continued in this unsatisfactory mood until luncheon. Nothing pleased her. The novels were stupid. She was tired of love tales--why could not people find something else to write about? She was sick of such namby-pamby sentimentality; and then they were so untrue to life.

Stories in real life did not always end happily, or there would not be so many old maids in the world.

"Single women, Edna; I like that term ever so much better."

"No; old maids," persisted Edna, obstinately; "cross, cranky old maids."

"Old maids, as you call them (and you are very rude to a lot of good, nice women, Edna), are not necessarily cross and cranky; the unmarried women I know are all busy, cheerful creatures, full of life and energy, and very useful in their generation. Father says he always enjoys a talk with an unmarried lady; so many of them keep their freshness and youth, even though they have wrinkles on their faces. I know some of them get soured and narrow, but perhaps they have had much to try them."

"Bessie, I do believe you will be an old maid yourself, some day."

"Your prophecy does not frighten me in the least If I am to be an old maid, I mean to be a very happy one. You know, Edna, how often I have talked to you of my dear Mr. Robertson. Well, he said something on this subject in one of his sermons that pleased me very much. I remember dear Hatty liked it too. I cannot recollect the exact words, but it was to this effect--that much of our happiness depends on the way we look on life; that if we regard it as a complete and finished existence, then no doubt those who fail in their aims are disappointed and discontented. In this the unmarried and childless woman, and the widow who has lost her treasure, will be agreed; but if we regard our present existence as only a prelude to a better--as an education, a training for a high and happier sphere--then the disappointed may take heart, for they have only come to the beginning of their life, and may surely wait with some degree of patience until a future life expands their happiness. Grown-up people do not want their sugar-plums all at once, as children do--don't you see it, Edna?"

"Oh, yes, I know what you good people mean." But she spoke with a degree of pettishness. "But I have not climbed as high as you, and I shall be a shriveled, cantankerous old maid."

"You will be nothing of the kind," replied Bessie, kissing her. "But luncheon is ready, and here comes your mother; pray, don't say anything to her about not going to the Pavilion, or she will be so disappointed; she never enjoys anything without you." And to her great relief Edna acquiesced.

Mrs. Sefton talked a great deal about the bazaar during luncheon. The Tozers and Lady Hampton were going, and she had heard that Minnie Crawford's costume was perfect, and suited her admirably.

"I suppose I had better go and get ready," observed Edna, pus.h.i.+ng back her chair, "or mamma will never survive the disappointment. The carriage will be here at half-past three." And she marched out of the room with rather a bored expression on her face.

"Nothing pleases her," complained Mrs. Sefton; "she seems tired of everything. I believe she is only going to the bazaar because she thinks it will give me pleasure; and the crowd and hot room will make her ill.

Run after her, Bessie, and beg her not to go. You and I will do very well together, and we can choose something pretty for her off the Crawford's stall. I would rather she did not go, I would indeed."

"It will do her good," pleaded Bessie; "the room will not be crowded just at first, and it will be such a pretty sight. She would be dull if we left her at home and the drive will refresh her."

"Do you think so?" returned Mrs. Sefton doubtfully. "But I am beginning to lose heart; nothing we can do seems to please her. I believe she is getting tired of Brighton; last night she said she wished we were at home; but Oatlands is far too quiet for her. I think I shall take rooms in town for the season, and afterward we will go abroad. The Crawford's are going to the Engadine, and they are lively young people, and their society will be good for Edna. Perhaps," looking at Bessie wistfully, "your mother might be induced to spare you, and we could take you with us. You have never seen Switzerland, Bessie?"

"No, none of us have ever been abroad. Oh, it would be too delightful!"

but as Bessie went off smiling to get ready for the drive, she told herself that any Swiss journey would be very dubious. "That is one of the things one has to long for all one's life," thought Bessie, "one of the denied good things that are to come presently."

Edna came down to the carriage looking quite bright and pretty; she was no longer in a misanthropic mood, the mere exertion of dressing to please her mother had done her a world of good. It was a brilliant afternoon and already groups of well-dressed people were moving in the direction of the Pavilion. "There are the Tozers, mamma!" she exclaimed beginning to look interested; "and there is Lady Hampton in that victoria; she has her old bonnet on; what a dear old dowdy she is! I tell you what, Bessie, I mean to dress well, even when I am a cranky old maid; there is a great support in clothes--and--no, it can't be----"

"Well, finish your sentence," observed Bessie. "Have you seen a ghost, Edna?" laughing rather nervously, for Edna had changed color in a singular manner.

"No, only a likeness; but of course I was mistaken;" but, all the same, Bessie knew that Edna had really seen Mr. Sinclair, however much she might doubt the evidence of her eyes. She had caught a glimpse of him, too--he was on his way to the Pavilion with the other people.

Edna did not recover herself in a hurry; she looked white and shaken; the likeness must have been a strong one, and brought back the past too vividly. Bessie glanced at her anxiously. Certainly, Edna's looks verified her words. Mr. Sinclair would read the truth for himself. They had arrived at the Pavilion now, and Mrs. Sefton and Edna were already exchanging greetings with their friends.

"Does it not look like a picture of Vanity Fair?" she whispered, when they at last made their way into the bazaar.

Well, it was a curious sight, certainly; a young man with powdered hair, in a blue velvet coat, offered them programmes of the entertainment; a little Moorish girl, with a necklace of gold coins, showed them her flower-basket, and a stately Queen Elizabeth smiled at Edna across the counter. A harlequin and a cavalier mounted guard over the post-office, and a gypsy presided over a fish pond. Mary Stuart and a Greek lady were in charge of the refreshment stall. It was a relief when the band struck up one of Strauss' waltzes, and drowned the din of voices; but as the sad, sweet strains of "Verliebt und Verloren" floated through the room, a pained expression crossed Edna's face.

A moment later Bessie felt her arm grasped, and Edna whispered excitedly:

"Look, Bessie; is it my fancy--that gentleman standing by the flower-stall--is it----"

"Yes, it is Mr. Sinclair," returned Bessie calmly. "Oh, he sees us now; he is coming to speak to us. Dear Edna, please don't look so pale over it; you surely do not mind seeing him."

But Edna was beyond answering; there was not an atom of color in her face as Mr. Sinclair came up to them and lifted his hat.

It was very odd that just at that minute Bessie was seized with an uncontrollable longing to become the possessor of a j.a.panese fan. It was excessively dear and excessively ugly, and the young person in the Catherine de Medicis ruff who was in charge of that part of the stall was otherwise engaged; nevertheless, Bessie would not give up her point.

Mrs. Sefton was on the other side of the room, talking to Lady Hampton; and though it was clearly Bessie's duty to remain with Edna, she was perfectly blind to the fact; she did not even wait to greet Mr.

Sinclair, but turned her back on him in the rudest manner, and kept her eyes on the gaudy specimen of j.a.panese art.

It was ten minutes before the coveted article was in her possession, and even then the stall seemed to fascinate her, and she was just making up her mind that a certain little blue vase would please Christine when Mrs. Sefton touched her arm.

"My dear child, why have you hidden yourself? and what has become of Edna?"

"Edna?" looking round; but there was clearly no vestige of her, or of Mr. Sinclair either. It was easy to escape detection in that crowd. "She was here just now. Mr. Sinclair was with her, and----"

"Neville here!" in intense surprise.