Edna continued in this unsatisfactory mood until luncheon. Nothing pleased her. The novels were stupid. She was tired of love tales—why could not people find something else to write about? She was sick of such namby-pamby sentimentality; and then they were so untrue to life. Stories in real life did not always end happily, or there would not be so many old maids in the world.

“Single women, Edna; I like that term ever so much better.”

“No; old maids,” persisted Edna, obstinately; “cross, cranky old maids.”

“Old maids, as you call them (and you are very rude to a lot of good, nice women, Edna), are not necessarily cross and cranky; the unmarried women I know are all busy, cheerful creatures, full of life and energy, and very useful in their generation. Father says he always enjoys a talk with an unmarried lady; so many of them keep their freshness and youth, even though they have wrinkles on their faces. I know some of them get soured and narrow, but perhaps they have had much to try them.”

“Bessie, I do believe you will be an old maid yourself, some day.”

“Your prophecy does not frighten me in the least If I am to be an old maid, I mean to be a very happy one. You know, Edna, how often I have talked to you of my dear Mr. Robertson. Well, he said something on this subject in one of his sermons that pleased me very much. I remember dear Hatty liked it too. I cannot recollect the exact words, but it was to this effect—that much of our happiness depends on the way we look on life; that if we regard it as a complete and finished existence, then no doubt those who fail in their aims are disappointed and discontented. In this the unmarried and childless woman, and the widow who has lost her treasure, will be agreed; but if we regard our present existence as only a prelude to a better—as an education, a training for a high and happier sphere—then the disappointed may take heart, for they have only come to the beginning of their life, and may surely wait with some degree of patience until a future life expands their happiness. Grown-up people do not want their sugar-plums all at once, as children do—don’t you see it, Edna?”

“Oh, yes, I know what you good people mean.” But she spoke with a degree of pettishness. “But I have not climbed as high as you, and I shall be a shriveled, cantankerous old maid.”

“You will be nothing of the kind,” replied Bessie, kissing her. “But luncheon is ready, and here comes your mother; pray, don’t say anything to her about not going to the Pavilion, or she will be so disappointed; she never enjoys anything without you.” And to her great relief Edna acquiesced.

Mrs. Sefton talked a great deal about the bazaar during luncheon. The Tozers and Lady Hampton were going, and she had heard that Minnie Crawford’s costume was perfect, and suited her admirably.

“I suppose I had better go and get ready,” observed Edna, pushing back her chair, “or mamma will never survive the disappointment. The carriage will be here at half-past three.” And she marched out of the room with rather a bored expression on her face.

“Nothing pleases her,” complained Mrs. Sefton; “she seems tired of everything. I believe she is only going to the bazaar because she thinks it will give me pleasure; and the crowd and hot room will make her ill. Run after her, Bessie, and beg her not to go. You and I will do very well together, and we can choose something pretty for her off the Crawford’s stall. I would rather she did not go, I would indeed.”

“It will do her good,” pleaded Bessie; “the room will not be crowded just at first, and it will be such a pretty sight. She would be dull if we left her at home and the drive will refresh her.”

“Do you think so?” returned Mrs. Sefton doubtfully. “But I am beginning to lose heart; nothing we can do seems to please her. I believe she is getting tired of Brighton; last night she said she wished we were at home; but Oatlands is far too quiet for her. I think I shall take rooms in town for the season, and afterward we will go abroad. The Crawford’s are going to the Engadine, and they are lively young people, and their society will be good for Edna. Perhaps,” looking at Bessie wistfully, “your mother might be induced to spare you, and we could take you with us. You have never seen Switzerland, Bessie?”

“No, none of us have ever been abroad. Oh, it would be too delightful!” but as Bessie went off smiling to get ready for the drive, she told herself that any Swiss journey would be very dubious. “That is one of the things one has to long for all one’s life,” thought Bessie, “one of the denied good things that are to come presently.”

Edna came down to the carriage looking quite bright and pretty; she was no longer in a misanthropic mood, the mere exertion of dressing to please her mother had done her a world of good. It was a brilliant afternoon and already groups of well-dressed people were moving in the direction of the Pavilion. “There are the Tozers, mamma!” she exclaimed beginning to look interested; “and there is Lady Hampton in that victoria; she has her old bonnet on; what a dear old dowdy she is! I tell you what, Bessie, I mean to dress well, even when I am a cranky old maid; there is a great support in clothes—and—no, it can’t be——”

“Well, finish your sentence,” observed Bessie. “Have you seen a ghost, Edna?” laughing rather nervously, for Edna had changed color in a singular manner.

“No, only a likeness; but of course I was mistaken;” but, all the same, Bessie knew that Edna had really seen Mr. Sinclair, however much she might doubt the evidence of her eyes. She had caught a glimpse of him, too—he was on his way to the Pavilion with the other people.

Edna did not recover herself in a hurry; she looked white and shaken; the likeness must have been a strong one, and brought back the past too vividly. Bessie glanced at her anxiously. Certainly, Edna’s looks verified her words. Mr. Sinclair would read the truth for himself. They had arrived at the Pavilion now, and Mrs. Sefton and Edna were already exchanging greetings with their friends.

“Does it not look like a picture of Vanity Fair?” she whispered, when they at last made their way into the bazaar.

Well, it was a curious sight, certainly; a young man with powdered hair, in a blue velvet coat, offered them programmes of the entertainment; a little Moorish girl, with a necklace of gold coins, showed them her flower-basket, and a stately Queen Elizabeth smiled at Edna across the counter. A harlequin and a cavalier mounted guard over the post-office, and a gypsy presided over a fish pond. Mary Stuart and a Greek lady were in charge of the refreshment stall. It was a relief when the band struck up one of Strauss’ waltzes, and drowned the din of voices; but as the sad, sweet strains of “Verliebt und Verloren” floated through the room, a pained expression crossed Edna’s face.

A moment later Bessie felt her arm grasped, and Edna whispered excitedly:

“Look, Bessie; is it my fancy—that gentleman standing by the flower-stall—is it——”

“Yes, it is Mr. Sinclair,” returned Bessie calmly. “Oh, he sees us now; he is coming to speak to us. Dear Edna, please don’t look so pale over it; you surely do not mind seeing him.”

But Edna was beyond answering; there was not an atom of color in her face as Mr. Sinclair came up to them and lifted his hat.

It was very odd that just at that minute Bessie was seized with an uncontrollable longing to become the possessor of a Japanese fan. It was excessively dear and excessively ugly, and the young person in the Catherine de Medicis ruff who was in charge of that part of the stall was otherwise engaged; nevertheless, Bessie would not give up her point. Mrs. Sefton was on the other side of the room, talking to Lady Hampton; and though it was clearly Bessie’s duty to remain with Edna, she was perfectly blind to the fact; she did not even wait to greet Mr. Sinclair, but turned her back on him in the rudest manner, and kept her eyes on the gaudy specimen of Japanese art.

It was ten minutes before the coveted article was in her possession, and even then the stall seemed to fascinate her, and she was just making up her mind that a certain little blue vase would please Christine when Mrs. Sefton touched her arm.

“My dear child, why have you hidden yourself? and what has become of Edna?”

“Edna?” looking round; but there was clearly no vestige of her, or of Mr. Sinclair either. It was easy to escape detection in that crowd. “She was here just now. Mr. Sinclair was with her, and——”

“Neville here!” in intense surprise.

“Yes; and Edna seemed rather upset at seeing him, and so I left them.”

“You have taken my breath away,” exclaimed Mrs. Sefton. “Oh, Bessie, do you think—— Come and let me sit down somewhere; my sight-seeing is over What did he say to her? How did they meet? Did he speak first?”

“Don’t ask me; I know nothing,” replied Bessie, with an odd little laugh. “She pointed him out to me, and asked if it were her fancy; and then he saw us, and Edna looked very white, and he held out his hand and said something; and then there was that Japanese fan, and of course, I heard nothing more.”

“You left them. That was right; you were very sensible, my dear.”

“Let me tell you everything,” said Bessie, feeling burdened by her secret. “I have seen Mr. Sinclair before; I met him on the Parade, and it was I who told him to come here.” And she related the purport of her conversation with him.

Mrs Sefton seemed much moved. “It will come right;” she said, in an agitated voice. “My poor child will be happy again. Bessie, I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you. I love Neville like a son. It is the wish of my heart to see Edna his wife. He has brilliant prospects. He is a rising man, and immensely clever; and Edna will never care for any one else.”

Bessie forgave this worldly speech on account of the motherly tone in which it was said.

“He must have taken her away; they are certainly not in this room,” she said bye and bye. “Perhaps they are in the gardens; they will be quieter there.”“Never mind, we will not look for them. You must amuse yourself, Bessie, until they come of their own accord. Suppose we buy something at the Crawfords’ stall. I want you to choose something pretty for each of your sisters. Throw that hideous fan away! It is not worth sixpence. Where did you pick up such an ugly thing?”

“It was the first handy article,” replied Bessie. “Throw it away! No indeed! I shall keep it forever as a memento of this day.”

But Mrs. Sefton, in high good-humor, vowed that she should have a prettier remembrance of the day than that. A few minutes afterward she put a lovely little work-case in Bessie’s hands. It was fitted up very tastefully, and was really a most useful present; and then she proceeded to select work-bags and pretty knick-knacks for the Lambert girls.

Bessie remonstrated in vain. Mrs. Sefton had come there to spend money, and she lavished one article after another on Bessie.

“This soft white shawl will just suit your mother,” she said. “And, oh! here is a pocketbook for Dr. Lambert. Your father will find that useful. Does your brother smoke? No? Well, we will buy that letter-case for him; and now I think we have finished.”

But it was quite half an hour afterward before the truants returned.

“Here they come!” exclaimed Bessie, as Mrs. Sefton began to get restless.

“Oh, mamma, dear, I hope we have not kept you,” said Edna penitently; but she blushed very prettily as she spoke, and there was no mistaking the happy look in her eyes.

“You must blame me, Mrs. Sefton,” interrupted Mr. Sinclair, who also looked radiant. “There was such a crowd that I took Edna into the gardens, and we have been sitting quietly under the trees. I hope we have not really inconvenienced you and Miss Lambert.”

“Not a bit,” replied Mrs. Sefton cheerfully. “But we may as well go home now, as Bessie and I have made all our purchases. Will you see if the carriage be there, Neville?”

“Neville is coming back with us, mamma,” observed Edna, in her old bright manner; and then Mrs. Sefton looked at her meaningly. Just then the band struck up with a military march, and Bessie lost Edna’s low answer. There was nothing particular said during the drive home. Mr. Sinclair observed he must go to his hotel to dress, and Edna questioned Bessie about her purchases.

When they reached Glenyan Mansions, Edna shut herself up with her mother, and Bessie went off to her own room and inspected her treasures, and then she dressed herself and sat down to read. Bye and bye there was a knock at the door, and Edna came in; she looked perfectly lovely with that soft look of happiness on her face.

“May I come in, Bessie? Mamma is talking to Neville in the drawing-room, and I can spare you a few minutes. Neville has told me everything. He says it is you who smoothed the way for our meeting and reconciliation. Bessie, darling, how am I to thank you?” and Edna wrapped her arms round her and kissed her fondly.

“It is all right, then?”

“It was all right the moment I saw him; he just looked at me, and said, ‘I wonder if you are glad or sorry to see me, Edna?’ and I managed to gasp out the word ‘Glad!’ And then he took my hand and asked me to come out of the crowd, and let him talk to me quietly. It seemed to me we understood each other at once.”

“Dear Edna, I congratulate you from my heart.”

“Yes, and it is all owing to you; we shall neither of us forget that. Bessie, you don’t half know how good Neville is, how gentle and generous he has been. He would not let me humble myself, or ask for his forgiveness. But, oh, he has been so unhappy! His mother has been nearly dying, poor fellow, and I never knew it; and even now her health is in a critical state. It is so sad for him, for he dotes on her, and they are everything to each other. He says if it had happened, and he had not had me to comfort him, it would almost have broken his heart.”

“But he will have you now.”

“Yes, and it must be my one thought to make up to him for these wretched seven months. Do you know, Bessie, he seems more distressed about me than about himself. He says I am quite altered, so thin and pale. He said it so gravely that I asked him if I had grown too plain for his taste; but there—I don’t mean to repeat his answer.”

“He will soon find out that you are as vain as ever.”

“I actually told him so, for he was so depressed at my changed appearance that I had to make one or two mischievous speeches just to rouse him, and that did him good; he punished me, though, by pointing out some of his gray hairs; but he has really grown handsomer, Bessie. Mamma said so, too, though Neville was never really handsome. Poor mamma! she is so happy, she has been crying for joy.”

The dinner-bell rang at that moment, and they were obliged to break off their talk. Mr. Sinclair had evidently found Edna’s absence irksome, for he met her with a reproach at her delay; but she answered him so sweetly that he was mollified in a moment.

It was the happiest evening Bessie had had since Hatty’s death; it was such a relief to see Edna’s face bright with smiles, and to hear the satisfied tones of her voice, and to meet the quiet look of content on Mr. Sinclair’s face. He was not a demonstrative man, and a stranger would hardly have thought his manner lover-like, but it was evident that he and Edna understood each other perfectly. After dinner he asked her to sing for him, and she went to the piano at once.

“This is your favorite song, Neville,” she said, looking at him quietly, and a flush of pleasure crossed his face. If he had ever doubted the reality of her affection for him, he could not have doubted it to-night, when every moment her gentleness and soft, appealing manner seemed to plead for forgetfulness of the past, and to hold out a safer promise for the future.

“I must come and see your mother,” Bessie heard her say later on. “Mamma thinks of taking rooms for the season, and then I shall see her often; shall you like that, Neville?”

“There is only one thing I should like better,” he replied, and there was a smile on his face as he got up and wished them good-night; and then he said something in a low voice to Edna.

“Very well,” she answered, with a bend of her graceful head, and she rose from her seat and walked to the door.

Mrs. Sefton looked after them with an indulgent smile.“He wants a word with her alone; Edna won’t refuse him anything to-night. How happy they are, Bessie! Dear Neville is so satisfied; he told me that he was struck with the improvement in Edna; he thinks her so much more womanly and so gentle, but he is troubled about her delicacy; but she will get better now all this worry is at an end.” And Bessie acquiesced in this.

When Edna came back, a little while afterward, she went straight to her mother and knelt down by her chair.

“Mother dear,” she said, tenderly, “Neville has forgiven me, and you must forgive me, too.”

“I forgive you my darling!” in a startled tone.

“Yes, for being such a bad daughter; but I will be good; indeed, I will be good now;” and, worn out with the emotions of the day, Edna laid her head on her mother’s lap and burst into tears.

Bessie, touched to the heart by this little display of feeling, went softly out of the room, and left the mother and child together.

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