The Honorable Miss Part 32

"And Loftus is very kind," repeated Catherine; "and he's handsome, too.

He often told me that girls fell in love with him."

Beatrice patted Catherine's cheek.

"Little puss!" she said, "he ought not to breathe such words in your innocent ears. So it is not for my money your mother and Loftus want me so badly, Kitty."

"I never heard either of them breathe the subject of your money. Have you any?"

"Yes, some."

"That would be nice, for somehow lately we seem to be dreadfully poor."

"If I were turned into a grand and patrician Bertram, and made into your sister, sweet little Kitty, you shouldn't be poor. I'd see to that. I'd dress you and pet you, and lade you with gifts."

"Beatrice, how bright your eyes are."

"Yes, I am excited when I think of the possible benefit I may be to you."

"I only want you to be my sister, and to make my mother and Loftus happy. My mother has a hidden trouble about which I must not speak; and for some reason which I cannot in the least understand, if you marry Loftus that trouble will disappear."

"And you want it to disappear?"

"I would give all I possess to make my mother happy."

"Good, dear, little Kitty! You don't incline then to the belief that your brother wants me for the guineas' worth!"

"Beatrice, I don't think Loftus is really sordid and he loves you. Oh, how earnestly he told me that he loved you. And my mother, she often, often talks of you, and I know she cares for you, Bee."

"Come into the house," said Beatrice, suddenly. "Now that you have come you must spend the evening with me. We can send a messenger to the Manor to tell them, and after tea you and I will go on the water. We'll have a happy evening together, Kate, and we won't talk any more about Loftus, no, not another word. If I do a thing I do it generously, but I will not discuss the _pros_ and _cons_ even with, you any more."

CHAPTER XXII.

SPARE THE POOR CHILD'S BLUSHES.

It was Miss Peters who first spread the news. She heard it whispered at the fishmonger's, spoken of aloud at the butcher's, and confirmed at the baker's. She could doubt this combined testimony no longer, and hurried home to put on her best bonnet with the wallflowers in it, and go forth on a visiting tour.

Miss Peters was in the seventh heaven of delight. To have news, and such news, to convey, would make her a welcome inmate that afternoon of every house in Northbury. She was intensely anxious to go out and convey her news without being accompanied by her large sister, Mrs. Butler. In Mrs.

Butler's presence Miss Peters was only a shadow, and she had no wish to be a shadow on this occasion.

_She_ had heard the gossip, not Martha--why, therefore, should she tell Martha for the sole satisfaction of having it repeated by Martha in her own tiresome way to each neighbor she met, while she, poor Miss Peters, who had really got the information first-hand--for the baker who served the two families with bread was so absolutely reliable--could only nod her head and roll her eyes in confirmation.

Miss Peters resolved, therefore, to tell her news to Mrs. Butler last of all; and her object now was to slip softly out of doors without being heard by her sister. She nearly accomplished this feat, but not quite.

As she was going downstairs, with her best bonnet on, her lavender gloves drawn neatly over her hands, and her parasol, which was jointed in the middle and could fold up, tucked under her arm, she trod on a treacherous board which creaked loudly.

This was enough. Mrs. Butler popped her head out of the drawing-room door and confronted the little spinster.

"Where now, Maria?" she asked. "Dear, dear, and I've been wondering what was keeping you all this time. Where are you off to? Why, I declare you have on your visiting things?"

"I thought I'd just go round and see one or two friends, as the afternoon is fine," answered Miss Maria, in a meek voice.

"The afternoon fine!" retorted Mrs. Butler. Have we any but fine afternoons in the month of August? I don't feel disposed to visit to-day. The lobster salad I ate last night disagreed with me. I shall stay at home."

"Well, that's all right, Martha. I can take your compliments to any one, of course, and just mention that you are a little indisposed."

"_You_ take _my_ compliments? No, thank you. You'll just have the goodness to take off your bonnet and come and sit in the drawing-room with me. I have had enough of my own company today, and I want you to pick up some st.i.tches in my knitting. Come, you needn't ogle me any more. Go back and take off your bonnet and be quick about it."

Very slowly Miss Peters turned and went up the stairs. She took off her neat little chip bonnet, adorned with the sprigs of wallflower, folded up her lavender gloves, and put back her heavily-fringed old-fas.h.i.+oned parasol in its case. Then she went down to the drawing-room; she sighed heavily as she did so. Poor thing; she had no money of her own, and was absolutely dependent on Mrs. Butler, who tyrannized over her as is the usual fas.h.i.+on in such cases.

The day was a glorious one, and from where Miss Peters sat she could get a splendid view of the bright and sparkling harbor. Little boats skimmed about on its surface, and Miss Peters longed to be in one of them--anywhere away from the tyrannical sister who would not allow her to go out and disburden herself of her news.

That news, bottled up within her breast, almost drove the little woman crazy. Suppose the baker told some one else? He had promised not; but who can depend on bakers? Suppose she was not the first to startle and electrify her fellow town's people after all? She felt so fretted and miserable that her sighs at last became audible.

"Well, Maria, you certainly are a lively companion!" exclaimed Mrs.

Butler. "Fidget, fidget sigh, sigh, and not a word out of your lips!

I'll thank you to hand me my knitting, and then you may read me a chapter from that book of sermons on the table. I often think it's in fine weather we should remember our souls most."

This remark was so startling that Miss Maria's grievance was forgotten for a moment in her surprise.

"Why in fine weather?" she ventured to ask.

"Because, being prosperous and comfortable, they are like to sleep within us. Now, get the sermons and read. Turn to sermon five, page four, begin second paragraph; there's a telling bit there, and I think the cap will fit your head."

Miss Maria was rising meekly to comply, when happening again to glance at the blue bosom of the water, she uttered a shriek, threw down Mrs.

Butler's knitting, caught up the spy-gla.s.s, and sprang to the window.

"Good gracious! Maria, have you gone mad?" exclaimed her sister.

"It is--it is--" gasped Miss Peters. "There they are! It's beautiful; and it's true!"

"What's beautiful, and what's true? Really, Maria, you are enough to turn a person crazy. What _are_ you talking about, and who _are_ you looking at? Give me the gla.s.s."

"Sister," said Miss Peters, "they're in a boat together. Out there in the harbor. _Both_ of them! In a boat!"

"If they weren't in a boat they'd be drowned to a certainty," snapped Mrs. Butler. "And who are they? And why shouldn't they be in a boat together?"

"Look for yourself, sister--there they are! And beautiful they look--beautiful!"

Mrs. Butler seized the spy-gla.s.s and tried to adjust it.

"Where?" she asked. "What part of the harbor?"

"Over there, just under the old Fort."

"My good gracious, Maria, you always do something to these gla.s.ses to make them go wrong. I can see nothing. Who, in the name of charity, are in the boat?"