After this, matters seemed to go wrong as far as the Bells were concerned.  It is true that after supper Beatrice called Matty to her side, and looked over a photographic album with her, and tried hard to draw her into the gay conversation and to get her to reply to the light repartee which Captain Bertram so deftly employed.  But, alas for poor Matty she had no conversational powers; she was only great at interjections, at ceaseless giggling, and at violent and uncontrollable fits of blushing.  Even Beatrice felt a sense of repulsion at the very open way in which Matty played her innocent cards.  Matty was in love, and she showed it by voice, look and gesture.  Beatrice tried to shield her, she was mortified for her, and felt a burning sense of resentment against the captain.

In spite, however, of the resentment of the one girl, and the too manifest admiration of the other, this hero managed to have pretty much his own way.  Beatrice had to reply to his sallies, she was forced to meet his eyes; now and then even he drew a smile from her.

When the time came for Miss Meadowsweet to go home, Albert Bell was eagerly summoned to accompany her.

“This is unnecessary,” said the captain; “I will see Miss Meadowsweet back to the Gray House.”

“Oh, now, Captain!  Bee, don’t you think it’s really too much for him?”

“Of course I don’t, dear Mrs. Bell,” said Beatrice, stopping the good lady’s lips with a kiss; “but Albert shall come too, so that I shall be doubly escorted.”

She nodded and smiled to her hostess, and Mrs. Bell felt a frantic desire to send Matty with her brother, but some slight sense of decorum prevented her making so bare-faced a suggestion.

Albert Bell was very proud to walk with Beatrice, and Captain Bertram felt proportionately sulky.  To Albert’s delight, who wanted to confide his own love affairs to Bee, the captain said good-night at the top of the High Street.

“As you have an escort I won’t come any further,” he said.  “When are we to see you again?  Will you come to the Manor to-morrow?”

“I don’t know,” said Beatrice, “I’ve made no plans for to-morrow.”

“Then come to us; Catherine told me to ask you.  Our tennis court is in prime order.  Do come; will you promise?”

“I won’t quite promise, but I’ll come if I can.”

“Thanks; we shall look out for you.”

He shook hands, gave her an earnest glance, nodded to Bell and turned away.  His evening had been a partial success, but not a whole one.  He left Beatrice, as he almost always did, with a sense of irritation.  It was her frank and open indifference that impelled him to her side.  Indifference when Captain Bertram chose to woo was an altogether novel experience to so fascinating an individual.  Hitherto it had been all the other way.  He had flirted many times, and with success.  Once even he had fallen in love; he owned to himself that he had been