“Pleased,” said Mrs. Bertram.

She raised her white face and looked at her visitor.

“Yes, of course I am.  I keep my girl.  The young man wasn’t suited to her, nor she to him.  I guessed there’d be no luck about that engagement, when I was so deaved with ‘poor dears,’ and ‘poor friends.’  That’s not the right way to speak before any wedding.  They were neither of them more than half-hearted towards one another, and it’s well they found it out in time.  Now when I married Meadowsweet—­”

“Mother,” interrupted Beatrice, “I think Mrs. Bertram is tired.”

“Well, my pet, and you want the old lady to stop her chatter.  You try the Life Pills, Mrs. Bertram, I’ll wait in the next room for Bee.  She has a word to say to you.”

When they were alone together Beatrice went and knelt by Mrs. Bertram’s sofa.

“So you never loved my son.  Beatrice?” said Mrs. Bertram, raising her heavy eyes, and looking at her.

“I did not, I consented to marry him because I was silly and thought I could do him good.  I was saved just in time from making a grave mistake.  Josephine loves him.”

“You think she will do him good?”

“The greatest, the best.  They were meant for one another.  They ought to lead happy lives together.”

“Beatrice, I have heard—­I don’t know how to thank you—­I have heard what you have done with some—­some of your money.  I don’t know how to thank you, child.  You have saved Loftus and me.”

Beatrice bent forward and kissed Mrs. Bertram on her cheek.

“I am glad,” she said in a simple, quiet voice.  “My father would be glad too.  I am abundantly content.”

“Beatrice, you would have been just the wife for Loftus.”

“No, he was not the husband meant for me.  Some day my true lover may come.  If not, I have always been a happy girl, Mrs. Bertram, I am happy still.  I feel full of delight to-night.  Now I must go.  Only, first of all, do something—­something for the girl who has been made your daughter to-day.”

“Something for—­for Josephine?”

“For Nina, whose great love will raise and save your son.  Take this packet; put it into the fire.”

“What is it, Beatrice?  I am weak.  Are there any more shocks?”

“No.  Josephine does not wish the story of her birth to be ever revealed.  She is a Bertram now without any need of proving her title.  Her object is to guard her husband’s secret, and she does this, when she asks his mother to burn this packet which contains the full proofs of her identity as a Bertram.”

Mrs. Bertram shivered.  She touched the packet.  Then she gave it back to Beatrice.

“Put it into the fire yourself,” she said.  “Beatrice, you have saved us all.”

This little scene happened on the evening of Bertram’s wedding-day.  Just at that same hour Mrs. Bell and Mrs. Butler were hob-nobbing over their tea.