Alice had rushed into the room followed by Sophy, who was followed again by Daisy Jenkins.

“The bride’s-maid dresses have come!” screamed Alice.  “Let’s all go and try them on, Matty!”

When Mrs. Bell took Beatrice out of the room, she said a few more words about Miss Hart.  Finally she took Beatrice upstairs, and ushered her into her young visitor’s bedroom.

Amongst the other luxuries which Josephine’s money had secured for her in the Bells’ house was an old-fashioned sofa, which was drawn across the windows.  On this sofa Josephine often lay for hours.  She was lying on it now, in a white morning dress.  Mrs. Bell introduced the girls to each other, and then left them.

“I have seen you before,” said Beatrice, the moment they were alone; “once before I have seen your face.  You were looking out of a window.  Stay,” she added, suddenly, “I think I have seen you twice before.  Are you not the girl who brushed past Captain Bertram and me the other night in the dark?  Yes, I am sure you are the girl.”

“You are right,” said Josephine; “I am the girl.”  She spoke in an eager voice, two burning spots rose to her pale cheeks; her eyes always bright now almost glittered.  “I am the girl,” she repeated.  She half rose from her sofa, but sat down on it again, and panted heavily, as though her breath failed her.

“You are ill,” said Beatrice, with compunction; “you look very ill.  Have you been long here?  Mrs. Bell says that you are a friend of hers, a visitor.”

“Yes, I am a friend and visitor.  Mrs. Bell is very good to me.”

“But you are ill.  You ought to see a doctor.”

“I ought not—­I will not.”

“Can I help you?  It was kind of you to send for me.  Can I do anything for you?”

“Wait until I get back my breath.  I will speak in a minute.  Sit quiet.  Let me be still.  It is agitation enough to have you in the room.”

Her eyes glittered again.  She pressed her white transparent hands to her throbbing heart.

Beatrice sat motionless.  She had a queer feeling at her own heart, a kind of premonition that a blow was about to be struck at her.  Several minutes passed.  Then the girl on the sofa spoke.

“The struggle of seeing you is past.  I see—­I endure.  Your name is Beatrice Meadowsweet—?”

“Yes, I am Beatrice Meadowsweet.”

“You are engaged to Captain Bertram?”

“Yes.”

“You are to be married on the 10th of this month.”

“Yes.”

“This is the 5th.  You are to be married in five days!”

“I am, Miss Hart.  Do you want to congratulate me?”

“I—­yes—­I congratulate you.  You—­are attached—­to Loftus?”

“To Captain Bertram?  Do you know him?”

“No matter.  You—­you love him?”

“Why should I speak of my feelings?  To marry a man is a proof of love, is it not?  Do you know my future husband?”