NOBODY ELSE LOOKED THE LEAST LIKE THE BERTRAMS.
It was the fashion to be punctual at Northbury, and when Catherine,
Mabel and Loftus Bertram arrived about ten minutes past seven at the
Gray House they found the pleasant old drawing-room already full of
eager and expectant guests.
Beatrice would have preferred meeting her new friends without any
ceremony in the garden, but Mrs. Meadowsweet was nothing if she was not
mistress of her own house, and she decided that it would be more
becoming and _comme il faut_ to wait in the drawing-room for the
young visitors.
Accordingly Mrs. Meadowsweet sat in her chair of state. She wore a
rose-colored silk dress, and a quantity of puffed white lace round her
neck and wrists; and a cap which was tall and stiff, and had little
tufts of yellow ribbon and little rosettes of Maltese lace adorning it,
surmounted her large, full-blown face. That face was all beams and
kindliness and good-temper, and had somehow the effect of making people
forget whether Mrs. Meadowsweet was vulgar or not.
She sat in her chair of state facing the garden, and her visitors, all
on the tip-toe of expectation, stationed themselves round her. The Bells
had taken possession of the Chesterfield sofa. By sitting rather widely
apart they managed to fill it; they always looked alike. To-night they
so exactly resembled peas in a pod that one had a sense of ache and
almost fatigue in watching them. This fatigue and irritation rose to
desperation when they spoke. The Bells were poor, and their dresses bore
decided signs of stint and poverty. They wore white muslin jackets, and
pale green skirts of a shining substance known as mohair. Their mother
fondly imagined that the shine and glitter of this fabric could not be
known from silk. It was harsh, however, and did not lie in graceful
folds, and besides, the poor little skirts lacked quantity.
The Bells had thin hair, and no knack whatever with regard to its
arrangement. They looked unprepossessing girls, but no matter. Beatrice
thought well of them. Mrs. Meadowsweet bestowed one or two broad glances
of approval upon the inseparable little trio, and their own small hearts
were dancing with expectation.
Would Bee, their darling, delightful, beautiful Bee, introduce them to
Captain Bertram? Would he speak to them and smile upon them? Would he
tell them stories of some of his gallant exploits? The Bells' round
faces seemed to grow plumper, and their saucer eyes fuller, as they
contemplated this contingency. What supreme bliss would be theirs if
Captain Bertram singled them out for attention? Already they were in
love with his name, and were quite ready to fall down in a phalanx of
three, and worship the hero of many imaginary fights.
Standing by the open window, and with no shyness or stiffness whatever
about them, Daisy and Polly Jenkins were to be seen. Daisy was a
full-blown girl with a rather loud voice, and a manner which was by some
considered very fascinating; for it had the effect of instantly taking
you, as it were, behind the scenes, and into her innermost confidence.
Daisy was rather good-looking, and was the adored of Albert Bell, the
little round-faced girls' brother. She was dressed in voluminous muslin
draperies, and was a decidedly large and comfortable-looking young
woman.
Polly was a second edition of her sister, only not so good-looking. She
had made up her mind to marry Mr. Jones, the curate, who for his part
was deeply in love with Beatrice.
"They are frightfully late, aren't they?" exclaimed Daisy Jenkins,
giving a slight yawn, and looking longingly out at the tennis courts as
she spoke. "I suppose it's the way with fashionable folk. For my part, I
call it rude. Mrs. Meadowsweet, may I run across the garden, and pick a
piece of sweet brier to put in the front of my dress? Somehow I pine for
it."
"I'll get it for you," said Albert Bell, blushing crimson as he spoke.
He was a very awkward young man, but his heart was as warm as his
manners were uncouth.
"I'll get it for you, Daisy," he said. His dull eyes had not the power
of shining or looking eloquent. He stepped from behind the sofa where
his sisters sat, and stumbled over Mrs. Meadowsweet's footstool.
"I think, my dears, we'll just wait for our guests," said the old lady.
"We'll all just be present, please, when they come. It's my
old-fashioned ideas, my loves, just for us all to be ready to give them
a right-down, good welcome."
"Bother!" exclaimed Miss Daisy. She flounced her full skirts, cast a
withering glance at young Bell, and once more looked out of the open
window.
"Come here, Beatrice," exclaimed Polly.
Mr. Jones was talking to Beatrice, and Polly hoped they would both
approach the window together.
"Come and tell us about that Adonis you went rowing with to-day," called
the girl in her shrill, half-jealous voice.
It was just at that moment that the door was flung open by Jane, and the
Bertrams made their appearance.
Catherine and Mabel wore the simplest white washing-dresses. Their
girlish waists were encircled by sashes of pale gold. Catherine's thick
dark hair was coiled tightly round her head--Mabel's more frizzy and
paler locks fell in wavy curls round her forehead and on her shoulders.
Nobody else looked the least like the Bertrams. Their dresses were as
cheap as any other girl's dresses in the room. Daisy and Polly Jenkins
had really much handsomer and finer hair, but somehow the effect
produced by the Bertrams was altogether different.
Mrs. Meadowsweet addressed them in a deferential tone as "Miss," and it
went like an electric flash through the minds of all the other visitors
that the old lady was quite right when she thought it her duty to
receive them in state.
Bertram was in flannels, and these were cut not exactly after the
pattern of those worn by young Bell, who looked with a sort of despair
at his true love, Daisy, whose eyes, in company with the three pairs of
eyes of the Bells, were directed full upon the aristocratic face of
Captain Bertram.
"Come into the garden," said Beatrice, stepping forward in her usual
bright way, forgetting herself completely, and in consequence putting
every one else at their ease. "We are very punctual people at
Northbury," she continued, "and we are all wild to begin our game
Captain Bertram, these are my friends, the Bells. May I introduce you?
This is Miss Matty, and this is Miss Alice, and this is Miss Sophy.
Matty, I put Captain Bertram into your charge. Albert," she continued,
looking at young Bell, "will you and Daisy arrange a set for tennis?"
How Albert Bell did bless Beatrice! In a moment or two all the visitors
were perambulating about the garden. Mr. Jones was escorted on one side
by Polly Jenkins, on the other, he, in his turn, tried to escort Mabel
Bertram, who did not talk a great deal and seemed somewhat out of her
element. Catherine and Beatrice walked together, and Mrs. Meadowsweet,
still sitting in her arm-chair, smiled as she saw them.
"That's a nice girl, and a fine looking girl," she murmured, "and very
good company for my Bee. Very good company for her. Yes, the Bertrams
are stylish but not of our set. My word, not a bit of our set. Bee, of
course, might talk to anybody, but the rest of us--no, no, I'm the first
to see the fitness of things, and the Bertrams don't belong to us nor we
to them. Bee takes after her father, poor man, but the rest of us, we
have no right to know the Bertrams. Now, do look at that young captain.
Why, he's making the little Bells laugh themselves into fits. Dear me,
I'd better go out. These girls don't know manners, and their heads will
be turned by that fine young spark. They are certain to believe any
rubbish he talks to them."
Mrs. Meadowsweet rose with difficulty, stepped out of the open window,
and sailed in her rose-colored satin across the grass.
"Now, what's up?" she said. "Fie, fie, Matty, your laugh is for all the
world like a hen cackling."
"He, he!" exclaimed the younger girls.
"Now, there you are off again, and all three of you this time!"
"It's Captain Bertram, ma'am," began Matty.
"Captain Bertram!" echoed Alice.
"Bertram," sighed Sophy.
"He says," continued Matty, "that we are all alike, and he doesn't know
one from the other, and we are trying to puzzle him. It is such
delicious fun."
"Delicious fun!" said Alice.
"Fun!" gasped Sophy, through her peals of mirth.
"Now," continued Alice, "he shall begin again. He shall go through his
catechism. Here we three stand in a row. Which is Matty, which is Alice,
which is Sophy?"
Captain Bertram pulled his mustache, swept his dark eyes over the little
eager palpitating group, and in a languid tone pronounced the wrong one
to be Matty.
The cackling rose to a shriek.
"You shall pay a forfeit, you bad man," said the real Matty. She shook
her little fat finger at him. "Oh, yes, Mrs. Meadowsweet, he really
shall--he _must_. This really is too sweetly delicious,--fancy his
not knowing me from Alice--I call it ungallant. Now what shall the
forfeit be, Alice and Sophy. Let's put our fingers on our lips and
think."
"He shall tell us," exclaims Alice, "he shall describe at full length
his--"
She looked at her sisters.
"His first battle," prompted Matty.
"No, no, better than that, better than that--" came from Sophy's girlish
lips. "Captain Bertram shall tell us about his--his first love."
It may have been rude, but at this remark Captain Bertram not only
changed color but turned in a very marked way from the Misses Bell, and
devoted himself to his hostess.
He was attacked by a complaint somewhat in vogue in high life--he had a
sudden fit of convenient deafness. He said a few words in a cold voice
to Mrs. Meadowsweet, crushed the little Bells by his icy manner, and
took the first opportunity of finding more congenial society.
An eager game of tennis was going on, and Beatrice, who did not play,
stood by to watch. Northbury was accustomed to Beatrice, and did not
therefore observe, what was very patent to Captain Bertram, that this
girl was as perfectly well-bred as his own sisters. She wore a long,
gray cashmere dress, slightly open at her throat, with ruffles of soft,
real lace.
As she watched the game, her sensitive and speaking face showed
interest, sympathy, keen appreciation. She heard Captain Bertram's step,
and turned to welcome him with a smile.
"Would not you like to play?"
"Will you be my partner?"
"When they make up a fresh set I will, with pleasure; although," she
added, looking down at her long dress, "I did not expect to play
to-night, and did not dress for it."
"Thank goodness. I hate tennis dresses. All girls should wear trains."
Beatrice raised her bright eyes to his face. Their open expression said
plainly, "It is a matter of indifference to me what you think about my
dress." Aloud she said:
"What have you done with my friends, the Bells?"
"I am afraid, Miss Meadowsweet, that long intercourse with those young
ladies would be too severe a strain on my intellect."
"Captain Bertram, you don't mean what you are saying."
"I do, on my honor. They are too intellectual for me."
"They are not! You are laughing at them."
Beatrice stepped back a pace, and looked at him with a heightened color
coming into her face.
Captain Bertram began to explain. Before he could get in a word she
said, abruptly:
"Pardon me," and flew from his side.
Her movement was so fleet and sudden that he had not realized her
departure before the 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 _naïve_ 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," said Loftus, "you heard a rabbit scuttling home.
Here, take my arm, and let us all get home as fast as we can. Why, you
are trembling from head to foot. You are tired out, that's it. Take her
other arm, will you, Kate?"
"They say Rosendale is haunted," panted Mabel.
"Folly! Don't listen to such rubbish. Your rabbit was hurrying to bed,
and was as much afraid of you as you of it."
"It--it wasn't a rabbit," said Mabel. "Rabbits don't sigh."
"Oh--sighs only belong to ghosts?"
"I don't know. Don't laugh at me, Loftie. I heard a real sigh and a
rustle, and something white flashed."
"Then you flashed back to us. Never talk of being a brave girl again,
May."
"Let us walk very quickly," said Mabel. "It was just there I saw it.
Just by that great clump of Lauristinus. Don't let us speak. There,
that's better. I own I'm frightened, Loftie. You needn't laugh at me."
Loftus Bertram had many faults, but he was not ill-natured. He took
Mabel's little cold hand, and pressed it between his warm fingers, and
ceased to laugh at her, and walked quickly, and was even silent at her
bidding. By degrees, Mabel leaned all her weight on Loftus, and took no
notice of Kate, who, for her part, held herself erect, and walked up the
avenue with a half-aggrieved, half-scornful look on her face, and with
some anxiety in her heart.