The Honorable Miss Part 47

Mrs. Bertram's face was perfectly white; her words came out in a low whisper.

"Beatrice, what have you discovered?"

"That Captain Bertram loves another, that another girl loves him, has almost been brought to death's door because she loves him so well."

"Pooh, child, is that all? How you frightened me."

"Why do you speak in that contemptuous tone. The 'all' means a great deal to Captain Bertram, and to me, and to the other girl."

"Beatrice, you are a baby. What young man of my son's age has not had his likings, his flirtations, his heart affairs? If that is all--"

"It is all, it is enough. Your son has not got over his heart affair."

"Has he not? I'll speak to him. I'll soon settle that"

"Nor have I got over it."

"Beatrice, my dear girl, you really are something of a little goose.

Jealous, are you? Beatrice, you ask an impossibility when you expect a young man never to have looked with eyes of affection on any one but yourself."

"I will not marry the man who looks with eyes of affection at another."

"How you bewilder me, and yet, how childish you are. Must I argue this question with you? Must I show you from my own larger experience how attached Loftus is to you? Dear fellow, his very face shows it."

"I don't want you to teach me anything from your experience, Mrs.

Bertram. Captain Bertram does not love me. I do not love him; he loves another. She has given him all her heart, all that she can give. He shall marry her;--he shall marry her to-morrow."

Mrs. Bertram rose very slowly.

"Beatrice," she said. "Your meaning is at last plain to me. _n.o.blesse oblige_. Ah, yes, that old saying comes true all the world over. You have not the advantage of good birth. I thought--for a long time I thought that you were the exception that proved the rule. You were the lady made by nature's own hand. Your father could be a tradesman--a _draper_--and yet have a lady for his daughter. I thought this, Beatrice; I was deceived. There are no exceptions to that n.o.bility which only birth can bestow. You belong to the common herd, the _canaille_. You cannot help yourself. A promise to one like you is nothing. You are tired of Loftus. This is an excuse to get out of a bargain of which you have repented."

"It is not."

Beatrice looked at Mrs. Bertram with eyes that blazed with anger. She walked across the room, and rang the bell. Her ring was imperious. She stood near the bell-pull until Clara, in some trepidation, obeyed the summons.

"Is Captain Bertram downstairs?" asked Beatrice.

"I'll inquire, Miss Meadowsweet."

"I think he is. I think you'll find him in the study. Ask him to have the goodness to come to Mrs. Bertram's room."

Clara withdrew. Beatrice began slowly to pace up and down the floor.

"I belong to the _canaille_," she murmured. "And my father--_my_ father is taunted because he earned his bread in trade. Mrs. Bertram, I am glad I don't belong to your set."

Beatrice had never been so angry in all her life before. The anger of those who scarcely ever give way to the emotion has something almost fearful about it. Mrs. Bertram was a pa.s.sionate woman, but she cowered before the words and manner of this young girl. She had taunted Beatrice. The country girl now was taunting her, and she shrank away in terror.

The door was opened, and Loftus Bertram came in. Beatrice went up to him at once.

"I have prepared the way for you, Loftus," she said. "It is your turn now to speak. Tell your mother the truth."

"Yes, my son."

Mrs. Bertram looked up in his face. Her look was piteous; it disarmed Beatrice; her great anger fled. She went up to the poor woman, and stood close to her.

"Speak, Loftus," she said. "Be quick, be brave, be true. Your mother cannot bear much. Don't keep her in suspense."

"Go out of the room, Beatrice," said Loftus. "I can tell her best alone."

"No, I shall stay. It is right for me to stay. Now speak. Tell your mother who you really love."

"Go on, Loftus," said Mrs. Bertram, suddenly. "You love Beatrice Meadowsweet. She angered me, but she is a true and good girl at heart.

You love her; she is almost your bride--say that you love her."

"She is the best girl I ever met, mother."

"There, Beatrice, does not that content you?" said Mrs. Bertram.

"Hush," said Beatrice. "Listen. He has more to say. Go on, Loftus--speak, Captain Bertram. Is Josephine not worth any effort of courage?"

"Josephine!" Mrs. Bertram clasped her hands.

Bertram stepped forward.

"Mother, I don't love Beatrice as I ought to love my wife. I do love Josephine Hart, and she is to be my wife to-morrow morning."

"Josephine Hart!" repeated Mrs. Bertram. She looked round at Beatrice, and a smile played all over her face--a fearful smile.

"My son says he loves Josephine Hart--Josephine--_and he will marry her_!"

She gave a laugh, which was worse than any cry, and fell insensible on the floor.

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

THE NIGHT BEFORE THE WEDDING.

Mrs. Meadowsweet wondered why Beatrice did not come home. It was the night before the wedding. Surely on that night the bride ought to come early to sleep under her mother's roof.

Mrs. Meadowsweet had a good deal to say to her girl. She had made up her mind to give her a nice little domestic lecture. She thought it her duty to reveal to her innocent Beatrice some of the pitfalls into which young married girls are so apt to fall.

"Jane," she said to her handmaid, "Miss Beatrice is late."

"Eh, so she is," responded Jane. Jane was a woman of very few words. Her remarks generally took the form of an echo. Mrs. Meadowsweet thought her a very comfortable kind of body to confide in. Jane was taking away the supper things.