Part 81 (1/2)

”It makes _all_ the difference,” Dan rejoined. ”She set me at liberty, and you are free too; so who have we to consider but ourselves? I admire a woman who has the pluck to be free!” he added enthusiastically.

”Then why don't you encourage Beth more to go her own way?” Bertha reasonably demanded. ”She's always yearning for a career.”

Dan hesitated. ”Because I've been a fool, I think,” he said at last.

”I'll encourage her now, though. It would be a great blessing to us if she could get started as a writer. I see that now. She'd think of nothing else. And it would be a blessing to her too,” he added feelingly.

”That's what I like about you, Dan,” Bertha observed. ”You always make every allowance for her, and consider her interests, although she has treated you badly.”

Dan pressed her hand to his lips. ”I'll do what I can for her, you may be sure,” he said, quite melted by his own magnanimity. ”I wish I could do more. But she's been extravagant, and my means are dreadfully crippled.”

”Then why do you buy me such handsome presents, you naughty man?”

Bertha playfully demanded, holding up her arm with the bracelet on it.

”I must have a holiday sometimes,” he rejoined. ”Besides, I happen to be expecting a handsome cheque, an unusual occurrence, by any post now.”

Beth's dividends were due that day.

Just as dinner was announced, Beth swept into the drawing-room in the best evening dress she had, a diaphonous black, set off by turquoise velvet, a combination which threw the beautiful milk-white of her skin into delicate relief. There was a faint flush on her face; on her forehead and neck the tendrils of her soft brown hair seemed to have taken on an extra crispness of curl, and her eyes were sparkling. She had never looked better. Bertha Petterick, in her common handsomeness, was as a barmaid accustomed to beer beside a gentlewoman of exceptional refinement. She wore the showy bracelet Dan had given her that afternoon, and it shone conspicuous in its tawdry newness on her arm; her dress was tasteless too, and badly put on, and altogether she contrasted unfavourably with Beth, and Dan observed it.

”Are you expecting any one in particular to-night?” he asked.

”No,” Beth answered smiling. ”I dressed for my own benefit. Nothing moves me to self-satisfaction like a nice dress. I have not enjoyed the pleasure much since I married. But I am going to begin now, and have a good time.”

She turned as she spoke and led the way to the dining-room alone. Dr.

Maclure absently offered his arm to Miss Petterick. He was puzzled to know what this sudden fit of self-a.s.sertion, combined with an unaccountable burst of high spirits on Beth's part, might portend. To conceal a certain uneasiness, he became extra facetious, not to say coa.r.s.e. There was a public ball coming off in a few days, and he persisted in speaking of it as ”The Dairy Show.”

”Don't you begin to feel excited about it? I do!” Miss Petterick said to Beth. ”I wish it were to-night.”

”I am indifferent,” Beth answered blandly, ”because I am not going.”

”Not going!” Dan exclaimed. ”Then who's to chaperon me?”

”I should scarcely suppose,” Beth answered, looking at him meditatively, ”that you are in the stage of innocence which makes a chaperon necessary. Bertha, how you are loving that new bracelet!

You've done nothing but fidget with it ever since we sat down.”

”Ah!” Bertha answered archly, ”you want to know where I got it, Madam Curious! Well, I'll tell you. It was sent me only to-day--by my young man!”

Dan looked at his plate complacently, but presently Beth saw a glance of intelligence flash between them--a glance such as she had often seen them exchange before, but had not understood; and she was thankful that she had not!--thankful that she had been able to live so long with Dr. Maclure without entertaining a single suspicion, without thinking one low thought about him. It was a hopeful triumph of cultivated nice-mindedness over the most evil communications.

When they were at dessert, the postman's knock resounded sharply. Dr.

Maclure, who had been anxiously listening for it, and was peeling a pear for Miss Petterick at the moment, waited with the pear and the knife upheld in his hands, watching the door till the servant entered.

She brought a letter on a salver, and was taking it to her master, when Beth said authoritatively, ”That letter is for me, Minna; bring it here.”

The girl obeyed.

Dan put down the knife and the pear. ”What's yours is mine, I thought,” he observed, with a sorry affectation of cheeriness.

”Not on this occasion,” Beth answered quietly, taking up the letter and opening it as she spoke. ”This happens to be peculiarly my own.”