"Don't talk of my looks. Come in, come upstairs. No, you are not to see the Bells, nor are any of them about. Come--come at once." She ran quickly up the stairs. He followed her, wondering, perplexed and irritated. "Beatrice, what is the matter?" he said, once. "Not much--or, rather, yes, everything. Inside that room, Captain Bertram, is one you know. Go and see her--or rather, come and see her, with me. You know her, and once, you were, after your fashion,--a _little_ kind." Beatrice threw open the door. "Nina," she said, "Captain Bertram is here,"--then she paused,--her next words came with a visible effort--"And his heart shall choose the girl he loves." Beatrice walked straight across the room to the window. She heard a cry from Nina, and something between a groan and an exclamation of joy from Bertram. She did not look round. CHAPTER XXIX. THE FEELINGS OF A CRUSHED MOTH. "I don't think it's right for Maria to be in the room," said Mrs. Butler. "I'll listen to all you've got to say in a moment, Mrs. Gorman Stanley, but--Maria, will you have the goodness to leave us." "I'd rather stay," pleaded poor Miss Maria. "I always was deeply interested in my darling Bee, and it's dreadful to think of her being discussed and gossiped over, and me not present. You know, Martha, you have a sharp tongue." "This from you, Maria? You, who eat my bread. Well! Mrs. Gorman Stanley, you are witness to this ingratitude." "Oh, my dear good creatures, don't quarrel," said Mrs. Gorman Stanley. She was a very phlegmatic woman, and hated scenes. "If I were you, Mrs. Butler, I'd let poor Miss Peters stay," she added. "I'm sure she's quite old enough." "Mrs. Gorman Stanley, my sister is never old enough to listen to improper subjects. Faithless, she is, ungrateful, perverse, but her innocence at least I will respect. Maria, leave the room." Poor Miss Maria slipped away. As she did so, she looked exactly like a crushed brown moth. In the passage she stopped, glanced furtively around her, and then, shocking to relate, put her ear to the key-hole. She felt both sore and angry; they were saying horrid things of Beatrice, and Miss Peters loved Beatrice. Soon she went away, and burying her face in her little handkerchief, sobbed bitterly. Inside the drawing-room, Mrs. Butler and Mrs. Gorman Stanley were holding awful conclave. "You don't say, my dear, that she took the young man up to Miss Hart's _private_ room? And who _is_ Miss Hart? And what's all this fuss about? No, I'm glad Maria isn't here! I always tried to do my duty by Maria, and a scandal of this kind she must not listen to. What does it all mean, Mrs. Gorman Stanley? Is Beatrice Meadowsweet to be married on Tuesday, or is she not?"