“But I like flowers best,” said Beatrice, under her breath.

She kissed Mrs. Bertram, and thanked her for her gift, which she locked away very carefully, as she knew it was of much value.  But her heart was not stirred by it as it had been by the crotchet edging which Jenny Ray had made for her.

Mrs. Gorman Stanley gave Beatrice a large piece of Berlin wool-work; it was not handsome, nor had it cost the good lady much, for she had picked it up years ago at an auction.  Mrs. Gorman Stanley was not a generous person, and as the Berlin wool-work had always troubled her on account of its magnificence, its uselessness, and the almost certainty that the moths would get in and devour it, she thought it a good opportunity of making an effective present, and getting rid of a household care.

Once that wool-work had been put together with love and pride.  The impossible lilies and roses, the huge peonies, and gigantic hollyhocks which composed its pattern, had been formed, stitch by stitch, by unknown fingers, probably now crumbled to dust.

The wool-work might have told a story could it speak, but it had never imparted its secrets, pathetic or otherwise, to Mrs. Gorman Stanley, and Beatrice received the gorgeous gift with little emotion, and some shrinking away from its bad taste.

Mrs. Butler, after a great deal of consultation with her sister Maria, decided to give the bride-elect a huge white, carved ivory brooch.  This brooch was her own favorite ornament; it was of gigantic dimensions, and consisted of an elaborate circle of flowers, supporting the word “Martha” in the centre.

“You’ll wear it for me, love,” said Mrs. Butler, “you’ll never put it on, but you’ll give Martha Butler a thought.”

Beatrice assured her friend that this must certainly be the case.  She was really grateful to Mrs. Butler, for she knew the old lady adored that brooch, and it had cost her much to deprive herself of it.

Miss Peters smuggled her little gift into Beatrice’s hand as they were parting.  It was a yard of Honiton lace, very old, and much darned.  Bee had often seen this lace round Miss Peters’ little wintry throat.  She kissed it when she looked at it now, and placed it very near the crotchet edging in her regard.

But it would take a much longer space than this story can afford to recount all the presents that came to Beatrice Meadowsweet.  From the Bertram connection the gifts were of money value, from the Northbury people they were rich with something better than money.  Not one of Bee’s friends forgot her at this time.

September came on apace, and at last there wanted but a week of the wedding day.

On a certain evening when the wind blew rather fresh from the sea, Captain Bertram asked Beatrice to walk with him.  She complied.  They took a long walk over the cliffs, and it was quite late and dark when they returned home.

They had to pass the Manor on their way back to the Gray House, where Bertram was to stay for supper.