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."