The three little figures in their somewhat tight shoes toddled down the street.  In the evening they toddled back again.  The brown paper parcel tossed, and somewhat torn, was tucked fiercely under Sophy’s arm, and Alice was unaccompanied by any brave son of Mars.

Sophy was the first to enter her expectant mother’s presence.

“There, ma,” she said, flinging the paper parcel on the table.  “I hope we have had enough of those Bertrams and their ways.  The fuss I had over that horrid parcel.  I thought I’d never get it back again.  In the end I had to see Mrs. Bertram about it, and didn’t she crush me just!  She’s an awful woman.  I never want to speak to her again all my life, and as to the captain caring for Matty!”

“Where is Matty?” here interrupted Mrs. Bell.  “She was not asked to stay behind after all, then?”

“She asked to stay behind?  You speak for yourself, Matty.  For my part, I think it was very unfair to give Matty that silk.  We might all have had nice washing muslins for the price of it.  Where are you, Matty?  Oh, I declare she has gone upstairs in the sulks!”

“You’re in a horrid bad temper, Sophy; that I can see,” expostulated the mother.  “Well, Alice, perhaps you can tell me what all this fuss is about?  I hope to goodness you gave the captain my message, child.”

“I didn’t see him to give it, mother,” answered Alice.  “He never spoke once to us the whole time.  He just shook hands when we arrived, but even then he didn’t speak.”

“Captain Bertram never spoke to Matty during the entire evening?” gasped Mrs. Bell.  “Child, you can’t be speaking the truth, you must be joking me.”

“I’m not, truly, mother.  Captain Bertram didn’t even look at Matty.  He was all the time following Beatrice Meadowsweet about like a shadow.”

Mrs. Bell gave her head a toss.

“Oh, that’s it, is it?” she said.  “I didn’t think the captain would be so artful.  Mark my word, girls, he behaved like that just as a blind to put his old mother off the scent.”

But as Mrs. Bell spoke her heart sank within her.  She remembered again how Beatrice had looked that evening in the green boat, and she saw once more Matty’s tossed locks and sunburnt hands.

After a time she went upstairs, and without any ceremony entered her daughter’s room.

Matty had tossed off the gaudy silk, and was lying on her bed.  Her poor little face was blistered with tears, and, as Mrs. Bell expressed it, it “gave me a heart-ache even to look at her.”  She was not a woman, however, to own to defeat.  She pretended not to see Matty’s tears, and she made her tone purposely very cheerful.

“Come, come, child,” she said, “what are you stretched on the bed for, as if you were delicate?  Now, I wouldn’t let this get to Captain Bertram’s ears for the world.”

“What do you mean, mother?” asked the astonished daughter.