THE TRUE STORY OF LADY BETTY.
"Man is his own star, and the soul that can
Render an honest and a perfect man,
Commands all light, all influence, all fate,
Nothing to him falls early, or too late.
Our acts our angels are, or good or ill,
Our fatal shadows, that walk by us still."
JOHN FETCHER.
"They laugh that win."
_Othello._
Two or three days before the wedding there was another gathering at the
Red House. Gwendoline and her husband were staying with Lord Ralston,
and Doreen suggested that the Chaytors and Everard Ward should be
invited to meet them. Althea made no objection. Only when her sister
proposed dessert in the verandah, she gently, but decidedly, put her
veto upon it.
"There are too many; we had better remain in the dining-room," she
replied, with heightened colour. And Doreen, who, with all her
bluntness, had plenty of tact, said no more.
Every one accepted. But at the last moment Joanna excused herself, on
the plea of indisposition. But Tristram Chaytor accompanied his brother.
Waveney and Mollie were dressed alike that evening, in soft,
ivory-coloured silk. Only Mollie's spray of flowers were pink, and
Waveney wore dark red carnations. Thorold, who sat by her at dinner,
noticed a diamond bangle on her arm. Waveney saw him looking at it.
"It is a present from Lord Ralston," she said. "I am to be Mollie's
bridesmaid, you know. Was it not good of him. I never had anything so
lovely in my life before."
Thorold murmured some response. Then he addressed his next neighbour.
Waveney was dangerously attractive that evening; her dark eyes were
bright with excitement and pleasure, and in her white dress she looked
more like Undine than ever. The conversation during dinner turned upon
long engagements. It was Gwendoline who started the subject; a friend of
hers, who had been engaged for eight years, had been married that very
morning. Gwendoline brought down on herself a chorus of animadversion
and censure from the gentlemen, for saying that she rather approved of
long engagements, and a warm discussion followed. The gentlemen took one
side of the argument, and the ladies the other; but Gwen stuck
tenaciously to her opinion.
"Waiting never hurts any one," she said, oracularly. "Don't you remember
Lady Betty Ingram, Moritz? Lady Betty was an ancestress of ours," she
continued; "she lived when farmer George was king, and she was faithful
to her love for more than twenty years."
"Five-and-twenty years, was it not, Gwen?" And then, as most of the
party begged to hear the story, Gwendoline narrated it in her own
charming way.
"Lady Betty had been for some time one of Queen Charlotte's
ladies-in-waiting. But Court life was not to her taste; she was lively
by nature, and she disliked all the etiquette and restraint, and she
pined to be back with her parents in the old home. But before she left
the Court she made the acquaintance of a certain Sir Bever
Willoughby--at least, he was only Bever Willoughby then, the son of an
impoverished baronet, and heir to heavily mortgaged estates.
"Lady Betty was no beauty, but she was considered fascinating by most
people. She was very witty, and she danced beautifully, and handsome
Bever Willoughby lost his heart to her when he saw her walk through the
minuet; for she pointed her toe so prettily and curtsied with such
exquisite grace, that Willoughby was not proof against her charms. One
evening when they were at Ranelagh, and Lady Betty looked more
bewitching than ever in her little quilted satin hood, Willoughby
suddenly addressed her in an agitated voice.
"'My Lady Betty,' he said, 'the Court is not the place for a poor man.
You have robbed me of my peace of mind, but no lady, however fair, shall
rob me of my honour. I am going to win my laurels. To-morrow I sail for
America. Fare you well--and God bless you--dear Lady Betty.' And then he
bowed to her with his hand on his heart, and for four-and-twenty years
she never saw his face again, though she heard of him often.
"It was then that Lady Betty returned to the old Hall. And there she
lived a quiet life, cherishing her aged parents, and busy with her
still-room and herb-garden, after the fashion of those days. She had
many lovers, but she never married; for, as she once told her mother,
she had never met any one to compare with Sir Bever Willoughby. 'He was
a goodly youth,' she said, 'and when I looked on his countenance I
bethought me of young David, playing his harp among his sheep; but he
had one fault, and it has spoiled both our lives--he was too proud to
owe his fortune to the woman he loved.'
"Lady Betty was in her comely middle age when she next saw Bever
Willoughby. She had grown rather stout, but people said she was
handsomer than she had been in her youth. She was dancing a minuet in
the picture-gallery at Brentwood Hall, when a tall, soldierly-looking
man, with his arm in a sling, attracted her notice. When their eyes met
Lady Betty blushed like a girl, but Sir Bever turned very pale. When, a
week or two later, Sir Bever asked her to marry him, Lady Betty looked
him full in the face.
"'There is an old proverb, Sir Bever,' she said, 'that tells us that
some things are better late than never; and methinks this wooing of
yours is somewhat tardy.'
"'Say not so, dear Lady Betty,' he returned, passionately, 'for though
I rode away without telling my love, I have had no wife or child, but
have been your true lover at heart all these years.'
"Then Lady Betty dropped him a low curtsy; but he saw the sparkle of
tears in her eyes.
"'You have not been more faithful than another,' she replied. 'You are a
brave soldier, Sir Bever, but you had no right to break a woman's heart,
as mine was broken that evening at Ranelagh.'"
"But she married him?" pleaded Mollie, rather piteously, as Gwendoline
paused for a moment.
"Oh, yes, she married him, and they were very happy; but Sir Bever only
lived ten years. As he lay dying he expressed his regret that their
wedded bliss had been so brief.
"'Dear heart,' returned Lady Betty, 'your mannish, foolish pride kept my
husband from me for nigh upon twenty-five years, but we will make up for
it hereafter;' and then she fell on his breast weeping. 'Death cannot
part true hearts,' she cried, 'and thou wilt be my own Sir Bever in
heaven.'"
And here Gwen caught her breath, for Jack was looking at her; and
actually Mollie, silly little Mollie, was crying.
"It is a lovely story, Gwen," observed Althea; and then she rose from
the table. A little later, when the gentlemen had had their coffee, they
all went out on the terrace, and Waveney found herself pacing the garden
paths with Mr. Chaytor.
They talked on indifferent subjects--the beauty of the evening and the
charm of a well-kept garden. And then they paused to listen to a
nightingale in the shrubbery. Presently they sat down in the verandah at
the Porch House, and watched the other couples passing to and fro below.
Lord Ralston and Mollie, Gwen and Jack Compton, and Doreen and Tristram;
the other three, Althea and Mr. Ward and Noel, had seated themselves on
a bench outside the library window. The moon was rising behind the elms.
Waveney's eyes were fixed on it, when Thorold suddenly broke the
silence.
"What did you think of the true story of Lady Betty?" he asked. There
was something inexplicable in his tone.
"I thought it beautiful," she returned; "though I did not cry over it as
Mollie did. They were both so faithful; but Lady Betty was braver than
Sir Bever."
"What do you mean?" remonstrated her companion. "Surely it was better
for him to ride away without telling his love. You do not agree with
me"--looking in her face. "You think Sir Bever was wrong to be afraid of
his poverty."
"Yes, I think he was wrong," faltered Waveney. "I agree with Lady Betty,
that he had sacrificed their youth to no purpose. You see, he gave her
no chance of setting things right; he just rode away, and left her to
bear her life as well as she could."
"You are severe," returned Thorold, eagerly. "You do not make an
allowance for a man's pride, that will not stoop to take everything from
a woman. I grant you the story was pretty, and that Mrs. John Compton
told it well; she has a charming voice and manner."
"Oh, yes; and she is so nice. Mollie is quite fond of her already."
"I do not wonder at it; but, Miss Ward, I want to convince you that you
ladies are not the only ones who set us an example of faithfulness. Men
may be proverbially fickle, but there are exceptions to the rule."
"Oh, yes, of course."
"It is difficult to judge in some cases. There was a friend of mine----"
Here Thorold hesitated and glanced at the girl's averted face. Something
in her attitude--the shy droop of the head, the hands clasped so tightly
on her white gown--excited him and quickened his pulses. There was a
tremor in his voice as he went on. "My friend was deeply in love with a
girl. She was very young. He was much older, and weighted with many
cares and responsibilities, and he was poor--oh, far too poor to take a
wife."
Again he paused, but Waveney made no comment, only her hands were
clasped more nervously.
"He did not exactly ride away, as Sir Bever did," he went on; "but he
made up his mind that the most honourable course would be to lock up the
secret of his love in his own breast, and not burden that bright young
life with his troubles. No!"--with strange emphasis--"he loved her too
well for that. Dear Miss Ward, surely you will own that my friend was
right."
Waveney would have given worlds not to answer. Her little pale face grew
rigid with suppressed emotion. Though she never raised her eyes, she was
conscious that he was watching her keenly; his strong will seemed to
compel her to speak.
"My friend was right, was he not?" he repeated, slowly, and as though he
were weighing each syllable.
"No," she returned, abruptly; "he was wrong. He was as mistaken as Sir
Bever." And then she grew crimson. Oh, if she could only escape! If she
could bring this conversation to an end! She was tingling from head to
foot with sheer nervousness.
"So I begin to think myself," returned Thorold, coolly. And then his
voice deepened with sudden tenderness. "Waveney, my dear one, tell me
the truth. Would you wait for me?"
* * * * *
Gwendoline always boasted that she had made the match. "For you know,
Jack," she would say, "if I had not told that story about Lady Betty,
Mr. Chaytor would never have mustered up courage to speak to Waveney
that night, and they might have been pining for each other for years."
After all, it had come about quite naturally. Perhaps Thorold had read
something in Waveney's eyes, as she listened to that old love-story,
that made him change his purpose of silence. But he never repented it.
"We may have to wait for years," he said to her, when the first
agitation of their great joy had calmed a little. But Waveney only gave
him one of her radiant smiles.
"Faithfulness has not gone out with powder and patches," she said, in
her quaint way. "I would rather wait through a lifetime, knowing without
doubt that you loved me, than have to exist through years of chilling
silence." And in his heart Thorold agreed with her.
Everard Ward gave his consent very willingly when Thorold, in rather an
embarrassed voice, told him that he feared they could not be married for
perhaps four or five years. He received the news with profound
satisfaction.
"Chaytor is a son-in-law after my own heart," he said to Althea. "He
will not rob me of my little girl for the next five years. 'My dear
fellow, I am delighted to hear it,' I said to him; but he looked at me
rather reproachfully."
"I hope they will not have to wait quite so long," returned Althea,
gravely.
But Everard would not endorse this. Lord Ralston had robbed him of his
Mollie, and he could not spare his little Waveney.
Perhaps Althea was the most astonished at the news. Thorold and Waveney
had kept their secret so well that she had never guessed it; but when
her first surprise was over, she rejoiced heartily in their happiness.
"Thorold has grown years younger since his engagement," she said one day
to Joanna. "He is not half so grave and sober now." And Joanna assented
to this.
"I am getting very fond of Waveney," she replied. "Tristram likes her,
and so does Betty."
But Joanna spoke without enthusiasm. Her brother's choice had greatly
surprised her, and privately she thought his engagement to a penniless
girl was an act of pure folly. "If he had only married a girl with
money!" she would say to Tristram sometimes.
But Althea, who had not outlived romance, approved thoroughly of the
engagement. She saw that Waveney entirely satisfied Thorold--that she
was the light of his eyes, and the desire of his heart. "My lonely days
are over," he once said to her. And it was true. Waveney's bright
intelligence enabled her to take interest in all his work, and he could
share all his thoughts with her.
When Mollie and Lord Ralston plighted their vows in the old church at
Erpingham, Thorold was making silent vows in his heart, and looking at a
little white figure with worshipping eyes. And Waveney was repeating her
_Te Deum_.
"Oh, Mollie, I don't think you are happier than I am," she whispered,
when they were alone together for a moment.
But Mollie looked just a trifle dubious. Thorold was very nice and
clever, and she meant to be quite fond of him; but he could not be
compared to her Moritz.
"Oh, Wave, do you know what I heard as we came out of church just now?"
she said, merrily. "Somebody near me said, 'The lame bride is a real
beauty, and they say she is a ladyship now.'" And then Mollie laughed
gleefully, and gave her satin train a little fling. "Wasn't it funny?
But I don't think Moritz quite liked it. And Wave"--and now Mollie's
dimples were in full play--"somehow I could not feel quite grave when
Colonel Treherne called me Lady Ralston."