Up at the Manor now everything went smoothly. Mrs. Bertram was in perfect health, and perfect spirits. The bustle of a coming wedding excited and pleased the girls. There was that fuss about the place which generally precedes an event of rejoicing. Such fuss was delicious to Catherine and Mabel. Captain Bertram not only looked perfectly happy, but all his best qualities appeared now on the surface. New springs of feeling, depths hitherto untouched, had been awakened by Beatrice. She had a power over this young man; she could arouse all the latent nobility which he possessed. He thought he was very much in love with her; he certainly did care for her, but more as his guardian-angel than with the passionate love he might offer to a wife. He made all sorts of good resolves when he was with Beatrice, and these resolves grew into his face, and made it look pleasant, and touched it with a light never before seen there, and strengthened it with a touch which banished for a time the evil lines of irresolution and weakness. Captain Bertram had made up his mind--he had been rarely blessed--he was unworthy, but a treasure of good price had been vouchsafed to him. He would live worthy of her. He would cast away the useless life of the past; he would cease to be extravagant--his debts should be wiped off and never incurred again. He would be honorable, true--a gentleman in every sense of the word--the girl who was lowly born, but whose heart was so patrician, and whose spirit was so loyal, should guide him in all things. Captain Bertram had only one uncomfortable corner in his heart just then. He had one little secret chamber which he kept locked, and into which, even in spirit, he never cared to enter. Men, when they are turning over new leaves, often keep this little reserve-room of the past uncleaned, unpurified. All else shall be swept and garnished, but this room, carefully locked, can reveal no secrets. From its door the ghost of past evil-doing can surely not escape to confront and destroy. So Captain Bertram thought. He must forget Josephine; the wrong he had done her, the vows he had made to her, could never be washed out or forgiven, but in all else he would be perfect in the future. Before he returned to Northbury for the express purpose of wooing and winning Beatrice Meadowsweet, he had written to Josephine. In his letter he had promised to marry her; he had promised to confide all about her to his mother. He said he should be at home for a month, and during that month he would watch his opportunity and break the news of his engagement to Josephine to his parent. He had asked Josephine to give him a month to do this in, and he had begged of her to leave Northbury for the time, assuring her that her presence at his mother's gates would be highly detrimental to their mutual interests. Josephine had departed, and Bertram, after the fashion of men of his class, had almost forgotten her existence in his pursuit of a new quest.