“You’re the laughing-stock of the town,” Alice would say.  “Everybody is talking about you, and having a laugh at you.  You needn’t suppose that you are pitied, for you are not.”

“Oh,” groaned Matty.  “How I wish, how I do wish, I had never met that horrid, odious man.”

“He’s not horrid nor odious at all,” retorted the practical Sophy.  “He looks lovely when he walks about with Beatrice.  I saw them yesterday in the Green, and Beatrice came up at once and asked about you.  What do you think ma did, Matty?  She turned her back on Bee and sailed away.  Poor Bee quite colored up, and didn’t know what to make of it.”

“They say Beatrice is to have a lovely wedding,” said Alice.  “And Mr. Ingram is going to have the whole church decorated with flowers.  And a bishop is coming down from London to marry them.  And Mr. Ingram is going to give Beatrice away himself, for he says she’s like a daughter to him.  And there’s to be another great party at the Rectory the day of her wedding, Matty, and lots of fire-works in the evening.”

“Oh, dear,” sighed Matty, “I think Captain Bertram is a very base man.”

“You’d better give up that idea,” said Alice, “for no one else agrees with you.  You know perfectly he never paid you attentions.  It was all ma who would think so.  And you know, Matty, you can’t deny it—­you did try to squeeze his hand the first day he danced with you.”

“I didn’t,” said Matty, flushing all over with indignation.  “I think you both are cruel.  I’ve had a very heavy trial, and you neither of you sympathize a bit.  And I’m sure,” continued Matty, in a plaintive voice, “not the least part of it is being stuck in bed now.”

“I wonder you stay,” said Sophy.  “You’re in perfect health.”

“No, I’m not.  Dr. Morris is very anxious about me.”

“He isn’t.  No one is anxious about you.  There isn’t a thing the matter, except that you and ma like that you should pose as the dying martyr.  Well, good-bye.  Sophy and I are going to have some fun this evening.”

“Fun, where?  Do tell me.”

“At the Jenkinses.  Their brother Gus has come home; you know how you and Gus used to flirt long ago, Matty.  Well, he’s back for a fortnight.  He has a long red beard, and his face is all over freckles, but he’s full of fun, and he laughs like anything.  We saw him and he asked for you.  It’s a pity you can’t come.”

“Why can’t I come?  I don’t see why I can’t come as well as you.”

“Oh, well, we thought you were the dying martyr.  Mrs. Jenkins asked us all in to tea, and we are to have tennis afterwards, and then high supper, in honor of Gus.  We said you couldn’t come, but that we would be there.  Alice, it’s time for us to dress now.  We’ll wear our muslins with the pink spots, and those sweet new pink sashes that we got in exchange for the old teapot from Mrs. Middlemass last week.  Come along, Alice.  We’ll show ourselves to you when we are dressed, Matty.”