_ CHAPTER XXIII. MRS. SEFTON HAS ANOTHER VISITOR
It was impossible for Neville Sinclair to tear himself away from Brighton for another twenty-four hours, so he telegraphed to his mother and made arrangements to take another day's holiday. He settled this before he slept that night, and presented himself at Glenyan Mansions long before the late breakfast was over. He and Bessie exchanged an amused glance as they shook hands, which was instantly detected by Edna, and she at once insisted on an explanation.
Mr. Sinclair laughed mischievously.
"The fact is," he said, "Miss Lambert and I have met before this morning;" which was the truth, for Bessie had encountered him coming out of his hotel, and they had spent a pleasant hour together talking about many things; and this conversation had raised Mr. Sinclair very much in Bessie's estimation, and her interest was warmly reciprocated.
"You have never had a friend I liked so well as I do Miss Lambert," he said, as he and Edna were walking together. "She is a genuine girl--absolutely true, and without any pretense or nonsense."
"Daisy is a dear little thing, and I am as fond of her as possible. I am so glad you like her, Neville," and Edna looked very pleased.
Mr. Sinclair left on the following morning, and in the afternoon Miss Shelton arrived. She was a pleasant-looking woman, with a tranquil face and silvery-gray hair, and Bessie was prepossessed in her favor at once. She was evidently warmly attached to her old pupil, and the news of her reconciliation with her lover filled her with unbounded satisfaction, and her congratulations were very hearty.
"I have lived a great many years in the world," she said, "but I have never seen two better young men than Mr. Sinclair and Mr. Richard."
They were sitting round the fire in the twilight as Miss Shelton made this little speech; they had come in from their drive half an hour ago; the tea things had just been taken away, and Edna was sitting on the rug at Miss Shelton's feet.
"They are both admirable," she murmured; and this encomium on the absent Richard gratified Bessie.
"I don't think they are to be compared," observed Mrs. Sefton, rather superciliously. "My dear Miriam, Neville is infinitely superior. Richard has not got Neville's brains."
"Cleverness is not everything," replied Miss Shelton. "I respect Mr. Sinclair, and have the highest opinion of his abilities; but Mr. Richard has always been a favorite of mine. Very few people guess how much he has in him; but I found it out myself a long time ago."
"You and Ritchie were always good friends, dear Miss Shelton. Hush! I hear some one in the corridor; it cannot be Neville come back;" and Edna sprung up from her low seat with a heightened color; but as the door opened her voice fell. "No, it is only Ritchie," in a disappointed tone.
"Whom were you expecting, Edna?" asked her brother, advancing toward the fireside circle. "Your tone does not sound very promising for me. Mother, you see I have taken you by surprise. Miss Shelton, I am delighted to see you again. How do you do, Miss Lambert?" with a swift glance in her direction.
Bessie greeted him quietly, and went back to her corner; the surprise was a very pleasant one for her. Richard looked well, and more animated than usual.
"I thought we arranged that you were not to come until to-morrow week, Richard," observed Mrs. Sefton, in her usual cold manner: and it was evident that she was not pleased at her stepson's arrival. "I told you particularly Miss Shelton was coming this week."
"Oh, yes, I knew Miss Shelton would be here; but Saturday week would not have suited me at all. I don't mean to put you out, mother. I have taken a room at the Grand Hotel. I can have my meals there, too, if you like."
"Nonsense, Ritchie!" returned Edna, good-humoredly; "our dining-room is not so small as that. You may have your breakfast at your hotel, and then spend the rest of the day with us. Miss Shelton will be delighted to have you; she was singing your praises just now."
"I saw Neville in town this afternoon," observed Richard, with a significant glance at his sister. "'All's well that ends well,' eh, Edna? So the comedy of errors is played out."
"Come into the other room and I will tell you all about it," replied Edna, taking hold of his arm in a friendly fashion. "Mamma, I suppose there is enough dinner for Richard, but I don't mean to let him go away."
"Neither do I mean to go," added Richard, with a laugh, as he allowed himself to be led out of the room.
"How well he looks! older and nicer, I think," observed Miss Shelton, as the young people left the room.
"Do you think so?" replied Mrs. Sefton, indifferently. "Richard is always terribly boorish in appearance; and as to his manners, nothing will polish them. But what can you expect, when he affects the company of farmers? Neville is worth a hundred of him," she continued, as she rose, with a discontented expression, to give some further orders.
Miss Shelton shook her head in a disapproving fashion.
"What a mistake," she said quietly, "always to undervalue that poor boy! I am glad to see Edna is improved in that respect. He is a great favorite of mine, Miss Lambert. I found out he had a kind heart when I was in trouble once. As Edna says, we are great friends."
"He is very nice," agreed Bessie, and then she went to her room to prepare for dinner. Yes, she was very glad he had come, though the sight of his familiar face had brought back the memory of that last sad day at The Grange. They had not met for seven months; how much had happened since then!
But when the evening was over, she was obliged to confess that it had somehow disappointed her. Richard had said very little to her. Miss Shelton had engrossed his conversation; he hardly looked in Bessie's direction.
When dinner was over, and Edna went to the piano, he placed himself beside her; but he did not ask Bessie to sing. She sat at her work, and tried to think that she was enjoying herself, but she felt left out in the cold; she missed the old friendliness in Richard's manner; she wondered why he did not ask about her home. Could a few months have cooled his friendship? When she bade him good-night he hardly looked at her; he shook hands far more cordially with Miss Shelton.
Bessie felt chilled and depressed, for she was a faithful little soul, and was true to all her likes and dislikes; fickleness to her friends was not in her nature; if she liked a person she liked him or her always.
"It is very strange, very disappointing. I think I would rather he had not come," she thought; "but perhaps he will be nicer to-morrow;" and with this vague hope she fell asleep.
The next morning she was out at her usual time, and, as before, the crisp morning air seemed to dispel all uneasy thoughts; she felt brighter, more sanguine and cheerful than she had last night. Nature holds a store of comfort for those who love and seek her--she has all sorts of balmy messages to give them; a thousand mellow influences steal upon the jaded consciousness; hope is written legibly in the blue sky, the clear air, the sunshine; every flower, every leaf is a token of love; the birds sing, and, in spite of ourselves, our hearts grow lighter.
"It must have been my fancy," thought Bessie; "I hope I am not growing self-conscious;" and then she gave a little start of surprise, for surely she knew that brown tweed coat, and there was Richard coming to meet her; and it was with his old pleasant smile that he greeted her.
"What a lovely morning, Miss Lambert! I knew you would be out." He had expected her then. "Miss Shelton is an early riser, too, but she never walks before breakfast. I wanted to find you alone, and to tell you that I was at Cliffe the day before yesterday."
"At Cliffe?" And Bessie raised her clear eyes to his with such intense surprise that Richard laughed a little nervously.
"I had some business there," he began awkwardly, "and I wanted to see your father. I saw them all," hesitating, "except your brother--he has gone back to Oxford; they were very well, and sent their love."
"And you saw mother?"
"Yes; what a nice woman she is! I like her so much, and your father too; they were very kind--kinder than I expected. You are a little like your mother--at least, I saw a sort of likeness. I never felt more at home anywhere."
"I am so glad;" and Bessie did look glad. He was quite like himself this morning; she had got her friend back again. "Did father send me no other message?" she asked presently.
"No, I believe not; at least, I have no recollection of a message. Miss Lambert," and here Richard's manner was decidedly nervous, "don't you wonder what my business was at Cliffe?"
"Why, no," she said, so frankly and innocently that in spite of his nervousness Richard could not restrain a smile. "I suppose there was something you wanted."
"Yes, indeed," he replied promptly, for this remark helped him; "and I wanted it so much that I was obliged to apply to your father."
"Could father help you?" much astonished at this.
"He helped me a great deal. I should not be speaking to you now but for him. Miss Lambert--Bessie--can't you guess? It is so hard for me to bring it out. Can't you guess what it was I wanted from your father? I have never wanted anything so much in my life."
Richard's manner grew so earnest and imploring, that an idea of his meaning flashed across her with a suddenness that made her giddy; but she only said very gravely:
"I cannot understand unless you speak out."
"May I speak out, then--may I tell you plainly what I want? It is yourself, Bessie;" and, in spite of his nervousness, Richard spoke a few forcible words, very eloquent from their intense earnestness. "I have cared for you all this time, but I would not obtrude myself on your trouble; I thought it better to wait."
"It was very kind, very thoughtful of you," replied Bessie, in a low voice. And then she added, shyly: "This is all new to me. I never expected this, Mr. Sefton."
"I was afraid not, from your manner; but, Bessie, for my sake you will think of it now. We have been friends, and now you have grown necessary to my happiness. I have been very lonely all these years; I shall be lonelier than ever if you cannot bring yourself to love me." His voice was so sad that the tears came to Bessie's eyes. She longed to comfort him; but how was she to be sure of her own mind?
"Will you give me a little time, a few hours to think of it?" she said at last. "It will not be right to answer you now. Do my mother and father know about this?"
"Yes," he returned eagerly, for her words filled him with hope; she had not repulsed him, and her manner, though confused, was as gentle as ever. "They quite approved. You see, I knew you so well that I would not have ventured to speak to you without their sanction."
"You were right," she said softly; and then she looked at him in a beseeching way that made Richard say:
"You would like me to leave you alone for a little, would you not?"
"If you please--that is, if you do not mind."
"I will go, then. But, Bessie, you will be here to-morrow morning?"
"Yes."
"I will be content with that promise, then," and Richard lifted his hat and moved away, and Bessie went home.
Breakfast was ready when she arrived, and she took her place at once, and made an effort to talk as usual. Once Edna made a remark about Richard.
"I have promised to drive him over the downs," she said. "Bessie, Miss Shelton wants to do some shopping; do you mind taking charge of her for the morning?"
"Certainly not," replied Bessie, who would have given worlds to be quiet; but she could not refuse Edna. She was afraid, however, that Miss Shelton found her a stupid companion; every now and then her attention wandered; she was conscious that a grave decision, one that would affect her whole life, was hanging in the balance; she had promised Richard to think about it, but no such thought seemed possible.
"I am tiring you out, my dear," observed Miss Shelton at last, "and it must be nearly luncheon time. I dare say Edna has returned from her drive."
Yes, Edna was standing in the window when they entered, but Richard was not with her.
"Ritchie said he would lunch at his hotel," she observed; "and he is going over to Lewes this afternoon, and may be late for dinner; and in that case he will have a chop somewhere, as he does not want us to wait for him."
"He will come in afterward, I suppose," replied Miss Shelton; but Bessie said to herself that he would do no such thing. How thoughtful he was for her comfort! He was staying away purposely, that his presence might not confuse her; and Bessie felt grateful to him for the delicacy that shielded and spared her.
The afternoon was not much better than the morning. Edna carried off Miss Shelton to the Aquarium, and left Bessie to drive with her mother; and as Mrs. Sefton was very talkative and in excellent spirits, Bessie had to maintain her share of the conversation. They found visitors on their return, and Bessie had to pour out the tea, and help entertain them, as Edna was tired from her exertions.
As she had predicted, Richard never made his appearance at all, although Miss Shelton and Edna both expected him, and indulged in wondering comments on his prolonged absence. Bessie found her position unbearable at last, and she made an excuse to retire early to her room. She gave a sigh of relief when she closed the door.
"At last I can think," she said to herself, as she drew her chair to the fire.
How was she to answer Richard to-morrow? But even as she asked herself the question she knew she had her answer ready. True, he had taken her by surprise; she had never suspected that this was his meaning. Bessie's unconsciousness, her humble estimate of herself, had blinded her to the truth. She hardly knew herself how much he was to her until his words had broken the spell; but now there was no room for doubt. She respected him; he had claimed her sympathy long ago, and now he had won her love.
"Oh, if only my Hatty knew!" were her last thoughts that night, after she had finished her thanksgiving for the new blessing that had come into her life; and though she was still tremulous and confused with happiness, she quieted herself with a few childlike prayers, and soon slept soundly.
Bessie felt a little nervous as she left the house the next morning, but she tried not to think of herself. Richard was waiting for her on the Parade. One glance at him banished her nervousness; he looked pale and anxious, as though he had not slept, but he made an effort to smile as he held out his hand.
"Is there any hope for me, Bessie?"
"Yes," she said simply, as she left her hand in his; and Richard needed no further answer.
It was a bright, peaceful hour that followed, as they walked side by side, looking at the shining sea and speaking of the dim future that lay before them.
"I was afraid you were too good for me, Bessie," Richard said, bye and bye, when he had exhausted his gratitude a little. "Sometimes I used to lose hope. 'She will never care for such a rough fellow,' I often said to myself."
"You must not speak against yourself now," returned Bessie shyly.
"No, dear, for you have promised to take me just as I am, and that would make any fellow think more of himself. Bessie, you must not mind if my mother is not quite pleased at first; she is an ambitious woman, and her notions are very different from mine." Bessie did not answer for a moment, and her silence seemed to alarm Richard.
"She is only my stepmother; I am my own master, Bessie."
"Yes, I know," in a low voice. "I was thinking about that last night. I am afraid she will not like it, and it troubles me a little. We are not rich, and----"
"What does that matter?" with a touch of impatience. "I thought you were free from that sort of nonsense, Bessie."
"It does not matter to us," replied Bessie, with a slight emphasis on the "us" that was exquisite to Richard's ear. "I am only speaking of Mrs. Sefton; but she is not your own mother, and she has never made you happy, and she has no right to prevent you pleasing yourself."
"That is spoken like a sensible girl. I must thank you for that speech. Your father said much the same thing to me. 'You are your own master,' he remarked, 'and your stepmother has no right to control your choice; but, knowing her as I do, she will not be pleased.'"
"You will tell her as soon as possible, will you not--and Edna, too?"
"I will tell them this morning. You must leave everything to me. You shall be subjected to no unpleasantness that I can prevent. And, Bessie, I am going to take you down to Cliffe. I have made my mind up to that."
"Very well," she said, with a smile. And it was a new thing for Richard to assert himself and meet with no contradiction; and as he looked at the girl beside him, and met her clear, candid glance, his heart swelled within him for very gratitude.
"It is getting late; we must go home now," observed Bessie, wondering a little at his sudden silence.
"Yes, we will go home," he replied, rousing himself. "I was just thinking, dear, what life will mean to me when I have you beside me." _