"Go out of the room, Beatrice," said Loftus. "I can tell her best alone."
"No, I shall stay. It is right for me to stay. Now speak. Tell your mother who you really love."
"Go on, Loftus," said Mrs. Bertram, suddenly. "You love Beatrice Meadowsweet. She angered me, but she is a true and good girl at heart. You love her; she is almost your bride—say that you love her."
"She is the best girl I ever met, mother."
"There, Beatrice, does not that content you?" said Mrs. Bertram.
"Hush," said Beatrice. "Listen. He has more to say. Go on, Loftus—speak, Captain Bertram. Is Josephine not worth any effort of courage?"
"Josephine!" Mrs. Bertram clasped her hands.
Bertram stepped forward.
"Mother, I don't love Beatrice as I ought to love my wife. I do love Josephine Hart, and she is to be my wife to-morrow morning."
"Josephine Hart!" repeated Mrs. Bertram. She looked round at Beatrice, and a smile played all over her face—a fearful smile.