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

  CHAPTER XXV.

  WEDDING PRESENTS.

  Notwithstanding her crushing disappointment Matty Bell did not sink intoan early grave. That report which had got into the country with regardto her funeral and tombstone began to be very flatly contradicted. Itwas now whispered on the breeze that Matty was not only in a fair stateof recovery but also that a substantial means of consolation had beenopportunely found her.

  Not only was Gus Jenkins very much to Matty's taste, but she proved,which, perhaps, was more to the point, to suit him exactly. This hero,who was doing a thriving trade in the oil business in London, delightedin laughing, merry, giggling girls, and surely where could he findanother to equal Matty in that respect. Whenever he looked at her shelaughed, whenever he spoke to her she blushed and giggled. He began toconsider himself a wonder of wit and fascination. Really it was notrouble at all to entertain a nice, little, soft, round thing like MattyBell. He pronounced the shot silk a splendid robe, and asked Mattypointedly what place of amusement she would like best to see in London,and in whose presence she would most happily enjoy it.

  Matty could scarcely speak when this remarkable question was addressedto her, unless giggles, blushes, gasps, and "Oh, Gus, how killing youare!" could be taken as a sensible reply.

  Under these circumstances Mrs. Bell felt that the less she said aboutCaptain Bertram and that old affair of his with Matty the better. Shealways mentioned it now as "that old affair," and whispered in strictestconfidence to her friends that Gus, poor dear fellow, was so absurdlyjealous of Captain Bertram that she dared not breathe the captain's namein his presence.

  "It's awful to see the thunder-clap that comes on Gusty's brow," thegood lady would say. "And what I'm so terrified of is that if he and thecaptain meet they'll do each other a serious mischief. My poor child,she is the innocent cause, Well, well, she has been much sought after."

  When Beatrice asked the Bells to become her bride's-maids, Mrs. Bellthought the time had arrived to let bygones be bygones, and to acceptthe proffered honor.

  "It was the captain's wish, I make no doubt," she said to her husband;"he knew he hadn't a chance of winning the girl on whom his heart wasset, but he thought, at least, he might have the pleasure of seeing herat his wedding, and, so to speak, looking his last on her. It's mybelief, too, that he'll relieve his feelings by giving Matty a verybeautiful present. She must hide it from Gusty, though; Gusty is soterrible in the jealous excess of his feelings."

  As Beatrice had insisted on giving her bride's-maids their dresses,no difficulty could be experienced on that head, and the Bells,notwithstanding that stormy period which had gone before, enjoyedthemselves immensely during the brief season of Beatrice's engagement.

  Mrs. Bell certainly was happy during this time. If Matty was not engagedto Bertram she soon would be to a better man. Gusty Jenkins, as sheinvariably called him, was, of course, the better man now in her eyes.The three girls were being supplied with new and lovely dresses, inwhich Mrs. Bell assured her husband they'd look like angels wafted downfresh from the skies--for the occasion. When she said this, Bell did notagree with her, but that was not of the slightest consequence.

  Mrs. Bell also during these happy weeks was making a little secret hoardof money, which further considerably added to the good lady's felicity.

  That young visitor of the Bell's, Miss Hart, proved herself a mostunobtrusive and retiring person. She was strangely reserved, no doubt,and would reveal none of the secret which she had dimly alluded to onthe night of her arrival to Mrs. Bell, but she was chatty and pleasantenough to the girls when quite alone with them. She put them up to manysmall wrinkles with regard to their toilette, and insisted on dressingMatty's hair in a way which made it look both thick and becoming. Whenthe Bells were quite alone she was present at their meals where shequite subjugated the hearts of Bell and his son, Albert. But whenvisitors appeared at the hospitable board Miss Hart would not presentherself. She had a curious reserve about her, which everyone noticed atthe time, and commented on largely by-and-bye. If the all-absorbingtopic of the day, Beatrice's wedding, was discussed, she invariably grewgrave, her face would become a shade paler than its wont, and herbright, restless eyes would be lowered.

  Except on one occasion, she never asked questions about the approachingwedding. On the contrary, she markedly avoided the subject. Once,however, she inquired the date of the wedding from Matty. On hearing itshe turned very pale, and left the room. Matty remembered this factby-and-bye.

  Once, too, Sophy saw her standing in her bedroom with her two handspressed tightly to her side, as though something had given her anintense pain there. She was close to the window, and must have beenlooking out, and Sophy observed that Captain Bertram and Beatrice werewalking down the street together.

  Notwithstanding all Mrs. Bell's coaxings, Miss Hart would never go outduring the day-time, but when darkness fell, and it came early now, inthe beginning of September, she would wrap her gray cloak about her, andgo away for long, long walks all alone.

  Mrs. Bell thought this proceeding anything but proper, but JosephineHart minded very little what any one thought about her.

  As the days wore on, her white face seemed to grow whiter, and her bigbright eyes often looked pathetic as well as bright. She ate verylittle, too, and scarcely spoke at all; but it never occurred to her orany one else to suppose that she was ill.

  The weather during all this period continued very fine. Never had soglorious a summer been remembered at Northbury, and the good folk saidit was a lucky omen for the young bride, who was a favorite with richand poor alike. Every one in Northbury made Beatrice a present, and shebegan to collect quite a curious collection of gifts. None of thesepresents were splendid, few of them possessed intrinsic value, but theyoung girl treasured them, one and all, very much; for they were to hersymbols of the love which had shone about her path from her birth.

  Mrs. Bertram could not understand the joy Beatrice felt over the crudegifts of the fishermen's wives, nor her ecstasy when a poor girl whomshe had once befriended, brought her a dozen yards of narrow and verydirty crotchet edging. Beatrice almost kissed that edging, and her eyesfilled with tears as she folded it up and put it away.

  No such soft radiance came to them when her future mother-in-lawpresented her with a beautiful diamond cross, which was an old familyheirloom, and must belong by right to Bertram's wife.

  "This is of great value," Mrs. Bertram said; "and it will suit you, mydear, you are the sort of girl who can wear diamonds, and look well inthem."

  "But I like flowers best," said Beatrice, under her breath.

  She kissed Mrs. Bertram, and thanked her for her gift, which she lockedaway very carefully, as she knew it was of much value. But her heart wasnot stirred by it as it had been by the crotchet edging which Jenny Rayhad made for her.

  Mrs. Gorman Stanley gave Beatrice a large piece of Berlin wool-work; itwas not handsome, nor had it cost the good lady much, for she had pickedit up years ago at an auction. Mrs. Gorman Stanley was not a generousperson, and as the Berlin wool-work had always troubled her on accountof its magnificence, its uselessness, and the almost certainty that themoths would get in and devour it, she thought it a good opportunity ofmaking an effective present, and getting rid of a household care.

  Once that wool-work had been put together with love and pride. Theimpossible lilies and roses, the huge peonies, and gigantic hollyhockswhich composed its pattern, had been formed, stitch by stitch, byunknown fingers, probably now crumbled to dust.

  The wool-work might have told a story could it speak, but it had neverimparted its secrets, pathetic or otherwise, to Mrs. Gorman Stanley, andBeatrice received the gorgeous gift with little emotion, and someshrinking away from its bad taste.

  Mrs. Butler, after a great deal of consultation with her sister Maria,decided to give the bride-elect a huge white, carved ivory brooch. Thisbrooch was her own favorite ornament; it was of gigantic dimensions, andconsisted of an elaborate circle of flowers, supporting th
e word"Martha" in the centre.

  "You'll wear it for me, love," said Mrs. Butler, "you'll never put iton, but you'll give Martha Butler a thought."

  Beatrice assured her friend that this must certainly be the case. Shewas really grateful to Mrs. Butler, for she knew the old lady adoredthat brooch, and it had cost her much to deprive herself of it.

  Miss Peters smuggled her little gift into Beatrice's hand as they wereparting. It was a yard of Honiton lace, very old, and much darned. Beehad often seen this lace round Miss Peters' little wintry throat. Shekissed it when she looked at it now, and placed it very near thecrotchet edging in her regard.

  But it would take a much longer space than this story can afford torecount all the presents that came to Beatrice Meadowsweet. From theBertram connection the gifts were of money value, from the Northburypeople they were rich with something better than money. Not one of Bee'sfriends forgot her at this time.

  September came on apace, and at last there wanted but a week of thewedding day.

  On a certain evening when the wind blew rather fresh from the sea,Captain Bertram asked Beatrice to walk with him. She complied. They tooka long walk over the cliffs, and it was quite late and dark when theyreturned home.

  They had to pass the Manor on their way back to the Gray House, whereBertram was to stay for supper.

  As they walked along, talking gravely, for Beatrice did not often laughwhen alone with her lover, a slender and tall figure passed them quicklyin the darkness. Bertram, who was walking very close to Bee, stumbledagainst her, and uttered a smothered oath.

  "What is the matter?" she asked in astonishment. "Have you hurtyourself?"

  "No, I thought I recognized a face, but I must be mistaken."

  "That slim girl who passed us so quickly just now? I, too, fancy I haveseen her before. Certainly she is a stranger here."

  "Don't talk about her, Beatrice. It was a casual likeness. People lookso different--distorted by the darkness. To-night it is very dark. Thereis no moon."

  "Still, I can see," said Beatrice, pausing and looking back. "I can see,and I fancy the stranger is standing still and looking at us. Backthere, by the hedge. Perhaps she is in trouble. Shall I run and speak toher?"

  "No, not for the world. Come home. Forget her."

  His tone was almost rough. They walked on rapidly. The high wind of acoming storm beat in their faces. Beatrice felt tired and dispirited,and Bertram's agitation and complete change of manner puzzled her.

  Presently they reached the house.

  "Here we are at last; you will be glad of your supper," she said.

  "No, thanks, I am not coming in."

  "Not coming in? You promised. Mother expects you."

  "Excuse me to-night, Beatrice. I have a headache. I shall go straighthome. Good-night. I'll come down early in the morning."

  He took her hand, dropped it hastily, and almost before the door wasopened, had turned away. Beatrice did not go in at once. She heard hisquick, retreating steps. Presently they quickened into a run.