“So you are going, after all?” was the only remark made by Edna, as she caught sight of Bessie’s gray gown. “Well, be quick; I have nearly finished my luncheon. I thought you were never coming, and there was no time to lose.”

“I will not keep you waiting,” returned Bessie, whose healthy young appetite failed her for once. “I am not hungry.”

“Nonsense?” said Edna, with restored good-humor. “You will find this mayonnaise excellent. You have had a long ride, and the drive to Staplehurst will take nearly an hour. We shall have a lovely afternoon for our expedition.”

Edna was chatting in her old lively fashion. She really looked exquisitely pretty this afternoon, and she seemed to take a delight in her own naughtiness. Her eyes sparkled mischievously every time she looked at Bessie’s grave face. She was as frisky as a young colt who had just taken his bit between his teeth and had bolted. Her spirits seemed to rise during her long drive, and she talked and laughed without intermission.

Bessie tried to respond and to make herself agreeable, but her efforts failed signally. She looked forward to the afternoon as a long martyrdom to be endured; the thought of Mrs. Sefton’s and Richard’s reproachful faces came between her and all enjoyment. Edna took no notice of her unusual gravity; she had gained her end, and obliged Bessie to bear her unwilling company, and so she was satisfied. It was almost a relief to Bessie when the drive was over, and they found themselves at Staplehurst.

Polo was to be played in a large park-like meadow belonging to Staplehurst Hall. As they drove in at the gate, two or three of the officers who were to play were walking about in their bright silk jerseys, while their ponies followed them, led by their grooms. One came up at once, and greeted the young ladies.

“I was on the lookout for you, Miss Sefton,” he observed, with a smile that he evidently intended to be winning, but which Bessie thought was extremely disagreeable. “I knew you would not disappoint me, even if Sefton proved obdurate.”

“Richard had some stupid farming engagement,” returned Edna, “so I brought Miss Lambert instead. Is your mother on the ground, Captain Grant?”“Yes; let me take you to her,” he replied, with alacrity; but it was some time before Jack and Jill made their way to the central point where the ladies were sitting. Several of the officers joined Captain Grant, and there was quite a triumphal procession through the field. Edna sat like a little queen guiding her ponies, and distributing smiles and gay speeches. Admiration and pleasure were as the breath of life to her; she was at once peremptory and gracious; she looked down at her escort with a sort of benign amusement. When Captain Grant handed her out of the low chaise, she made her way through the ladies with the air of a princess.

A tall, high-colored woman, with dark hair, and dressed in rather bad taste, held out her hand and welcomed her warmly.

“My dear, I am so glad to see you; Jem told me you were sure to come. Is this Miss Lambert? Put those chairs closer, Jem. And so your mother could not come. Never mind; I am used to chaperoning young ladies, though I never had girls of my own.”

Edna answered civilly, but Bessie soon perceived that Mrs. Grant’s conversation was not exactly to her taste. She spoke in a loud voice, and as most of her remarks were about her boy Jem, as she called him, his extraordinary cleverness and good luck at polo, and his merits as a son and officer, it was extremely desirable that they should not be overheard, but Mrs. Grant seemed quite indifferent to the amused looks of the ladies round her, and her broad, good-natured face beamed with smiles as Jem made a fine stroke and won the goal.

“He rides better than any of the men,” she exclaimed proudly. “I’ll back my boy against any of them. Oh, look, Miss Sefton, Singleton has hit the ball away—no, Jem is galloping after him, he means to carry it. Yes—no—yes! they are through! Bravo, Jem, bravo!” and Mrs. Grant clapped her hands excitedly.

In spite of her uneasiness, it was impossible for Bessie not to become first interested and then absorbed in the game, and for a little while she forgot all about The Grange. She had never seen polo played before, and she was carried away by the excitement of that fascinating but perilous game; the mad rush of the horses across the grass, the quick strokes of the players, the magnificent riding, and the ease and grace with which the officers guided their ponies and leaned over their saddles to strike the ball; the breathless moment when young Singleton rode alone with all the others pursuing him wildly; no wonder Bessie felt enthralled by the novelty of the sight. She uttered a little scream once when the horses and riders all crushed together in a sort of confused melee.

“Is any one hurt?” she exclaimed in much distress; but Edna and Mrs. Grant only laughed.

“You must come with me and have some tea,” observed Mrs. Grant, when the match was over. “My lodgings are just by.”

Edna hesitated for a moment, and Bessie touched her arm.

“It is already five,” she whispered. “Do you see those dark clouds? We shall have a thunder-shower soon; I think it would be better to start for home.”

“And be caught in the rain,” replied Edna, with a shrug. “And we have no umbrellas nor waterproofs. No, Bessie; we must take refuge at Mrs. Grant’s until the shower is over. Come along; don’t make a fuss. I do not want to go any more than you do, but it is no use getting wet through; we cannot help it if we are late for dinner.” And so saying, Edna again joined the talkative Mrs. Grant.

Bessie said no more, but all her uneasiness returned as she followed Edna. Mrs. Grant had temporary lodgings in the High Street, over a linen-draper’s shop. She ushered her young guests into a large untidy looking room with three windows overlooking the street. One or two of the other ladies joined them, and one officer after another soon found their way up the steep little staircase, for Mrs. Grant was noted for her hospitality. She called Edna to help her at the tea-table, and Bessie seated herself by one of the windows. No one took much notice of her; her good-natured partner at tennis, Leonard Singleton, was not among Mrs. Grant’s guests.

Captain Grant brought her some tea, and offered her cake and fruit, but he soon left her to devote himself exclusively to Miss Sefton. Bessie felt very dull, and out in the cold, and yet she had no wish to join the gay group round the tea-table. The room felt close and oppressive; the first heavy drops were pattering on the window; two or three children were running down the street with a yellow dog barking at their heels.

“You will get wet; shall I close the window?” observed a voice behind her, and Bessie started and looked round at the tall, solemn-looking young officer who had been introduced to her two hours previously as “Captain Broughton, not of ours, Miss Lambert.”

“Oh, no, I prefer it open, it is so warm,” replied Bessie hastily.

“Oh, ah, yes! Are you fond of polo?”

“I never saw it played until this afternoon; it is very exciting, but I am sure it must be dangerous.”

“Nothing to speak of; an accident now and then—man half killed last Thursday, though.”

“Oh, dear, how dreadful!”

The solemn-faced officer relaxed into a smile.“Well, he might have been killed outright in battle, don’t you know; accidents will happen now and then; it is just luck, you see, and Owen always is such an unlucky beggar.”

Bessie refuted this with some vivacity. She explained that though it might be a man’s duty to die for his country, it was quite another thing to imperil a valuable life on a mere game; but she could make no impression on the solemn-faced captain.

“But it is an uncommonly good game, don’t you know,” he persisted; and Bessie gave up the point, for Captain Broughton’s mind seemed as wooden as his face.

“It was no good talking to such a man,” she observed to Edna, as they drove home; “he said ‘Don’t you know’ at the end of every sentence, and seemed so stupid.”

“Are you talking about Captain Broughton?” asked Edna calmly. “My dear Daisy, it is not always wise to judge by appearances. Captain Broughton is not specially amusing in conversation, but he is a brave fellow. Do you know, he wears the Victoria Cross for his gallantry in saving a wounded soldier; only a private too. Yes; though he was wounded himself, he carried him off the field. He was a village lad—one of his own tenants—who had followed him out to India, and when another ball struck him he just staggered on.”“Oh, dear,” groaned Bessie; “this is a punishment to me for judging too quickly. To think I had the opportunity for the first time in my life of talking to a hero, and that I called him stupid! This is a case of entertaining angels unawares. But if one could only know they were angels.”

Edna only laughed at this; but Bessie found food for uncomfortable reflection all the way home. The rain had ceased at last, but not before Edna had grown secretly conscious of the lateness of the hour. It was nearly seven before the weather allowed them to start, and for the last half hour she had stood at the window quite oblivious of Captain Grant’s entreaties that she would make herself comfortable, and evidently deaf to his unmeaning compliments for she answered absently, and with a manner that showed that she was ill at ease.

The moment the rain ceased, she asked him peremptorily to order her pony-chaise round.

“Mamma will be getting anxious at this long delay,” she said, so gravely that Captain Grant dare not disobey her.

“You will come over next Saturday and see our match with the Hussars,” he pleaded, as she gathered up the reins.

“Perhaps; but I will not promise,” she returned, with a nod and a smile. “Oh, dear; how tiresome these last two hours have been. You have not enjoyed yourself a bit. Bessie. I am so sorry!”

“Oh, never mind.” returned Bessie wearily, and then they had both been silent. Neither was in the mood to enjoy the delicious freshness of the evening; that clear shining after the rain that is so indescribable, the wet, gleaming hedges, the little sparkling pools, the vivid green of the meadows; for Edna was feeling the reaction after her excitement; and Bessie, tired out with conflicting feelings was thinking regretfully of her unsatisfactory conversation with Captain Broughton.

“It serves me right, after all,” she thought penitently. “Father always says that we ought to take trouble to please even the most commonplace, uninteresting person, not to let ourselves be bored by anyone, however uncongenial they may be, and of course he is right. I was just fidgeting about the weather, and how we were to get home, and so I did not try to be entertaining.” And here Bessie made a mental resolution to be more charitable in her estimate of people.

She had no idea that Captain Broughton had said to himself as he left her, “Nice little girl, no nonsense about her; not a bad sort, after the women one sees; can talk to a man without looking for a compliment; like her better than Miss Sefton.”Just as the drive was drawing to a close, Bessie roused up from her unwonted depression. They had turned out of the narrow lane, and a wide sweep of country lay before them, bathed in the soft tints of the setting sun. A mass of golden and crimson clouds made the western heavens glorious, the meadows were transfigured in the yellow radiance, every hedgerow and bush seemed touched by an unearthly finger, a sense of distance, of mystery, of tranquil rest seemed to pervade the world.

“Oh, Edna, how beautiful! If only one were an artist to try and paint that.”

“Yes; it is a fine evening,” remarked Edna carelessly.

“Thank goodness, there is The Grange at last. Yes, there is Richard, evidently on the lookout for us. So I suppose they have finished dinner.”

“Did you think we were lost?” she asked with a little air of defiance, as her brother came forward and patted the ponies.

“No,” he said gravely; “I told my mother the rain must have detained you. It is a pity you went, Edna. Sinclair has been here two hours. He came down in the same train with mother.”

“Neville here!” And Edna’s look changed, and she became rather pale. “What has brought him, Richard?”Richard shrugged his shoulders, and replied that he had not the least idea. He supposed it was a whim. It was evident that Edna was not too well pleased at the news. A little hardness came into her face, and she walked into the house without taking any notice of Bessie.

As Bessie stood hesitating for a moment in the hall, Richard followed her. He had not even looked at her, and poor Bessie felt sure that his manner expressed disapproval.

“Will you not go into the drawing-room, Miss Lambert?”

“Oh, no. Mr. Sinclair is there, is he not? I would rather go upstairs and take off my things. I am very tired.” And here Bessie faltered a little.

But to her surprise Richard looked at her very kindly.

“Of course you are tired. You had that long ride; but Edna would not think of that. Take off your things quickly and come down to the dining-room. Dixon will have something ready for you. There is some coffee going into the drawing-room. You will like some?”

“Oh, yes, please,” returned Bessie, touched by this thoughtfulness for her comfort. After all, he could not be angry with her. Perhaps she would have time to explain, to ask his opinion, to talk out her perplexity. How comfortable that would be! Bessie would not stay to change her dress, she only smoothed her hair, and ran down.

Richard was waiting for her, and Dixon had just brought in the coffee. When he had gone out of the room she said eagerly:

“Oh, Mr. Sefton, I am so glad to be able to ask you a question. You were not vexed with me for going to Staplehurst with your sister?”

“Vexed!” returned Richard, in a tone that set her mind at rest in a moment. “You acted exactly as I expected you to act. When mother showed me your note I only said, ‘I never doubted for a moment what Miss Lambert would do; she would go, of course.’”

“Yes; I only hesitated for a moment; but, oh! what a miserable afternoon it has been!” And as she touched on the various incidents, including her tÊte-À-tÊte with Captain Broughton, Richard listened with much sympathy.

“I never dreamed for a moment that Edna would go after all, but it was just a piece of childish bravado. The foolish girl does not think of consequences. It is a most unfortunate thing that Sinclair should turn up at this moment; he is a little stiff on these subjects, and I am afraid that he is terribly annoyed.”

“Did Mrs. Sefton tell him all about it?”

“My mother? No; she would have given worlds to hide it from him. Edna told him herself that she was going in her last letter. Oh, you don’t know Edna,” as Bessie looked extremely surprised at this; “her chief virtue is truthfulness. She will defy you to your face, and trample on all your prejudices, but she will never hide anything.”

“And she actually told Mr. Sinclair?”

“Yes she did it to tease him, I believe, because his last letter did not please her. Sinclair has to put up with a good deal, I can tell you, but he wrote back in a great hurry, begging her not to carry out her plan. Sinclair told us both this evening that he could not have written a stronger letter. He told her that he had good reasons for wishing her to see as little as possible of Captain Grant. And when he came down just to give her a pleasant surprise, as he had a leisure evening, it was quite a shock to him to find his entreaties had been disregarded, and that she had actually gone after all. He is excessively hurt, and no wonder, to find Edna has so little respect for his wishes.”

“It was a grievous mistake,” returned Bessie sorrowfully. “I don’t believe Edna enjoyed herself one bit.”

“No; it was just a freak of temper, and she chose to be self-willed about it. I hope she will show herself penitent to Sinclair; she can turn him around her little finger if she likes; but sometimes she prefers to quarrel with him. I really think Edna enjoys a regular flare up,” finished Richard, laughing. “She says a good quarrel clears the air like a thunder-storm; but I confess that I don’t agree with her.”

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