Captain Bertram began to explain. Before he could get in a word she said, abruptly:
"Pardon me," and flew from his side.
Her movement was so fleet and sudden that he had not realized her departure before the impulsive girl was standing by the despised Matty, talking to her in a cheery and affectionate voice, and making fresh arrangements for the pleasure and satisfaction of all three.
"By Jove, she's a fine creature!" thought the captain. "I don't mind how much I see of her—but as to the rest of this motley herd, my mother is quite right in not letting the girls have anything to do with them. I suppose I put my foot in it bringing them here to-night. Well, that can't be helped now. I hope Miss Beatrice will soon come back. Her eyes flashed when I said even a word against those terrible little friends of hers. I should like her eyes to flash at me again. I suppose she'll soon return. She promised to be my partner in the next set at tennis. That girl doesn't care a bit for fine speeches. She won't take a compliment even when it is offered to her—won't stretch out her hand for it or touch it. Cool? I should think she is cool. Might have been through two or three London seasons. What a queer lot surround her! And how unlike them she is. There's the old mother—I had better go and talk to her. She's quite as vulgar as the rest, but somehow she doesn't jar on a man's nerves like those charming Miss Bells. Positively, I should have a fever if I talked much longer to them. My first love, too! I'm to tell them about her. Oh, yes, that's so likely."
Again the angry flame mounted to Captain Bertram's thin cheek. He strolled across the grass, and joined his hostess.
"Now I call this a shame!" exclaimed the good lady, "you don't tell me that you are all by yourself, captain, and no one trying to make themselves agreeable to you! Oh, fie! this will never do—and you, so to speak, the lion of the party."
"Pray don't say that, Mrs. Meadowsweet, I hate being a lion."
"But you can't help it, my good young sir. You, who represent our Gracious Sovereign Lady's Army. Now, where's that girl of mine? Beatrice! Trixie! Bee!"
Captain Bertram was amazed at the shrill and far-sounding quality of Mrs. Meadowsweet's voice. It distressed him, for anything not ultra refined jarred upon this sensitive young officer's nerves; but he trusted that the result would be satisfactory, and that Beatrice, whose motions he began to liken to a poem, would put in a speedy appearance.
She was talking to Mr. Jones, however, and when her mother called her, she and the curate approached together.