"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?"