The Honorable Miss: A Story of an Old-Fashioned Town

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  "WHEN DUNCAN GRAY CAME HOME TO WOO."

  Most people go away for change of air in the month of August, but thiswas by no means the fashion in the remote, little old-world town ofNorthbury. In November people left home if they could, for it was dull,very dull at Northbury in November, but August was the prime month ofthe year.

  It was then the real salt from the broad Atlantic came into the limpidwaters of the little harbor. August was the month for bathing, foryachting, for trawling. Some denizens of the outside world even came toNorthbury in August; the few lodging-houses were crammed to overflowing;people put up with any accommodation for the sake of the crisp air, andthe lovely deep blue water of the bay. For in August this same water wasoften at night alight with phosphorescent substances, which gave it theappearance in the moonlight of liquid golden fire. It was then the girlssang their best, and the young men said soft nothings, and hearts beat alittle more quickly than ordinary, and in short the mischievous,teasing, fascinating god of love was abroad.

  In preparation for these August days Perry the draper did a roaringtrade, for all the Northbury girls had fresh ribbons put on their sailorhats, and fresh frills in their blue serge dresses, and their tanleather gloves had to be neat and new, and their walking shoes trim andwhole, for the entire little world would be abroad all day and half thenight, in company with the harvest moon and the glittering golden waves,and all the other gay, bright things of summer.

  This was therefore just the most fitting season for Captain Bertram tocome back to Northbury, on wooing intent. More than one girl in theplace rejoiced at his arrival, and Mrs. Bertram so far relaxed her rigidhold over Catherine and Mabel as to allow them to partake, in companywith their brother and Beatrice Meadowsweet, of a certain portion of thegeneral merry-making.

  Northbury was a remarkably light-hearted little place, but it never hadentered into quite so gay a season as this memorable August when CaptainBertram came to woo.

  It somehow got into the air that this gay young officer had taken hisleave for the express purpose of getting himself a wife. Nobody quiteknew how the little gossiping whisper arose, but arise it did, and greatwas the commotion put into the atmosphere, and severe the flutterings itcaused to arise in more than one gentle girl heart.

  Catherine and Mabel Bertram were in the highest possible spirits duringthis same month of August. Their mother seemed well once more, well, andgay, and happy. The hard rule of economy, always a depressing_regime_, had also for the time disappeared. The meals were almostplentiful, the girls had new dresses, and as they went out a little itwas essential for them in their turn to entertain.

  Mrs. Bertram went to some small expense to complete the tennis courts,and she even endured the sight of the Bells and Jenkinses as theystruggled with the intricacies of the popular game.

  She herself took refuge in Mr. Ingram's society. He applauded herefforts at being sociable, and told her frankly that he was glad she waschanging her mind with regard to the Northbury folk.

  "Any society is better than none," he said. "And they really are suchgood creatures. Not of course in the matter of finish and outward mannerto compare with the people you are accustomed to, Mrs. Bertram, but--"

  "Ah, I know," interrupted Mrs. Bertram in a gay voice. "Rough diamondsyou would call them. But you are mistaken, my dear friend; there is, Iassure you, not a diamond in this motley herd, unless I except MissBeatrice."

  "I never class Beatrice with the other Northbury people," replied Mr.Ingram; "there is something about her which enables her to take a standof her own. I think if she had been born in any rank, she would havekept her individuality. She is uncommon, so for that matter is MissCatherine."

  The two girls were standing together as Mr. Ingram spoke. They wereresting after a spirited game, and they made a pretty picture as theystood under the shelter of the old oak tree. Both were in white, andboth wore large drooping hats. These hats cast picturesque shadows ontheir young faces.

  Mrs. Bertram looked at them with a queer half-jealous pang. Beatrice wasthe child of a lowly tradesman, Catherine the daughter of a man offamily and some pretension; and yet Mrs. Bertram had to own that in anysociety this tall, upright, frank, young Beatrice could hold her own,that even Catherine whose dark face was patrician, who bore therefinement of race in every point, could scarcely outshine this countrygirl.

  "It is marvellous," said Mrs. Bertram after a pause; "Beatrice is one ofnature's ladies. There are a few such, they come now and then, and nocircumstances can spoil them. To think of that girl's mother!"

  "One of the dearest old ladies of my acquaintance," replied Mr. Ingram."Beatrice owes a great deal of her nobleness of heart and singleness ofpurpose to her mother. Mrs. Bertram, I have never heard that woman sayan unkind word. I have heard calumny of her, but never from her. Then,of course, Meadowsweet was quite a gentleman."

  "My dear friend! A draper a gentleman?"

  "I grant the anomaly is not common," said the Rector. "But inMeadowsweet's case I make a correct statement. He was a perfectgentleman after the type of some of those who are mentioned in theSacred Writings. He was honest, courteous, self-forgetful. His mannerswere delightful, because his object ever was to put the person he wasspeaking to completely at his ease. He had the natural advantage of arefined appearance, and his accent was pure, and not marred by anyprovincialisms. He could not help speaking in the best English becausehe was a scholar, and he spent all his leisure studying the classics.Therefore, although he kept a draper's shop, he was a gentleman. By theway, Mrs. Bertram, do you know anything of the young girl who has beenstaying at your lodge? You--you are tired, my dear lady?"

  "A little. I will sit on this bench. There is room for you too, Rector.Sit near me, what about the girl at my lodge?"

  "She is no longer at your lodge. She has left. Do you happen to knowanything about her?"

  "Nothing."

  "Ah, that seems a pity. She is the sort of young creature to exciteone's sympathy. I called to see her a week ago, and she talked prettilyto me and looked sorrowful. Her name, she says, is Hart."

  "Really? I--I confess I am not interested."

  "But you ought to be, my dear friend, you ought to be. The girl seemsalone and defenceless. She is reserved with regard to her history, won'tmake confidences, although I begged of her to confide in me, and assuredher that I, in my position, would receive what she chose to tell underthe seal of secrecy. Her eyes filled with tears, poor little soul, buther lips were dumb."

  "Oh, she has nothing to confide."

  "Do you think so? I can't agree with you. Although my lot has been castin this remote out-of-the-world town, I have had my experiences, Mrs.Bertram, and I never yet saw a face like Miss Hart's which did notconceal a history."

  "May I ask you, Mr. Ingram, if you ever before saw a face like MissHart's?"

  "Well, no, now that you put it to me, I don't think that I ever have. Itis beautiful."

  "Ugly, you mean."

  "No, no, Mrs. Bertram. With all due deference to your superior taste Icannot agree with you. The features are classical, the eyes a littlewild and defiant, but capable of much expression. The hair of theadmired Rossetti type."

  "Oh, spare me, Rector, spare me. I don't mean this low girl's outwardappearance. It is that which I feel is within which makes her altogetherugly to me."

  "Ah, poor child--women have intuitions, and you may be right. It wouldof course not be judicious for your daughters to associate with MissHart. But you, Mrs. Bertram, you, as a mother, might get at this poorchild's past, and counsel her as to her future."

  "She has gone away, has she not?" asked Mrs. Bertram.

  "I regret to say she has, but she may return. She promised me faithfullyto come to church on Sunday, and I called at the lodge on my way up toleave her a little basket of fruit and flowers, and to remind her of herpromise. Mrs. Tester said she had left her, but might return again. Ihope so, and that I may be the means of helping her, for the poorchild's face
disturbs me."

  "I trust your wish may never be realized," murmured Mrs. Bertram, underher breath. Aloud she said cheerfully, "I must show you my bed ofpansies, Rector. They are really quite superb."