It was a wet windy morning. Mollie Walter sat with her needlework in the little drawing-room of Stone Cottage, and looked disconsolately through the French window at the havoc that was being wrought among the late summer flowers in the garden. It was a bright little tight little garden, with flower borders round a square lawn, and ground for vegetables beyond a privet hedge. A great walnut tree overshadowed it, and the grass was already littered with twigs and leaves. Such a garden had to be kept 'tidy' at all costs, and Mollie was wondering how she should be able to manage it, when the autumn fall of leaves should begin in earnest. Her mother was in bed upstairs with one of her mild ailments, which never amounted to actual illness. Mollie had left her to sleep for an hour, and was hoping for a visit from Beatrix, to relieve her loneliness. She had not minded being much alone until lately, but now that she had more real friends than she had ever had in her life she wanted them constantly.

There was a ring at the bell, and Mollie went out to open the door. Yes, it was her dear Beatrix, looking more beautiful than ever, though her long raincoat was buttoned up beneath her chin, and only her flower-like face could be seen. But it was shining with happiness and laughter, as she struggled with the wind to get her umbrella down, before entering the little hall.

"Oh, what weather!" she exclaimed, as the door was shut behind her. "But I had to come to tell you, Moll. It's all right. My darling old Daddy has come to his senses. I'm not angry with him any more."

The two girls embraced warmly. "I knew you'd be pleased," said Beatrix, laughing out of pure lightness of heart, as she took off her coat. "I had to come and tell you. Oh, I'm as happy as a queen."

Presently they were sitting together by the window, and Beatrix was telling her story. "I don't mind the six months a bit," she said when she had finished. "I should have, at first, but I don't now. It's getting out of all the horridness at home that I'm so glad of. I hated not being friends with Dad; I hated it much more than he thought I did."

"But he was unreasonable," said Mollie, who had not seen much of this disinclination during the past weeks.

"Oh, I don't know. Well, perhaps he was, but there were excuses for him. He does love me, and hated the idea of losing me. I believe he'd have been the same about anybody. Anyhow, it's all over now, and I've forgiven him. I'm going to reward him by being very good. I shan't talk about RenÉ at all, except sometimes to you, my dear. When the six months are over and he comes again, Dad will have got used to the idea. He must like him, you know, really. He is so nice, and so good. The idea of him being like a Frenchman in a horrid novel! Men are rather like babies in what they can believe about each other, aren't they? I know a lot about men now, having two such nice ones to love as RenÉ and Daddy. Oh, I'm awfully happy now, Moll."

"I'm so glad," said Mollie sympathetically. "And six months isn't such an awful time to wait. But don't you think that if you say nothing about him Mr. Grafton will think you've forgotten him, and be very disappointed when he finds you haven't?"

Beatrix laughed. "I expect that's what he wants, poor darling!" she said. "Perhaps I shall say a little word now and then. And Caroline will know that I love him just as much as ever. Daddy will find out about it from her. He always does talk over everything with her."

"Is she very glad?"

"Oh, yes. She has to take Dad's part, but she's awfully sympathetic, really, and I don't think she has ever really understood what all the fuss was about. Nobody could, of course, because there isn't anything to make a fuss about. The dear old Dragon thinks Dad must be right, but then she's old, and I suppose she has never loved anybody very much and doesn't know what it's like. Caroline doesn't either, though she thinks she does. But we know, don't we, Mollie?"

Mollie suddenly took up the work that had been lying on her lap, and her face went red as she looked down at it. "I ought to know, by the amount I've listened to about it from you," she said.

Beatrix laughed at her mischievously. "I don't think you'll hear very much more," she said. "I'm contented now. I feel comfortable all over me. I am going to begin to enjoy myself again. I shall go away on some visits soon, but I don't want to just yet, because I love being here, now that everything is all right at home."

Mollie's blush had died down. She left off using her needle and looked at Beatrix. "Are you sure you love him just as much as ever you did?" she asked.

"Oh, yes, I do. Of course I do," said Beatrix. "It doesn't leave off like that, you know. But I know how to wait. I'm much wiser than people think I am. I'm thinking of him all the time, and loving him, and I know he's thinking of me. He'll be so happy when his mother tells him that he may come and ask for me again. And then he'll be allowed to have me, and we shall both be as happy as happy all the rest of our lives. It's lovely to look forward to. It's what makes me not mind waiting a bit—or only a very little bit—now and then."

Mollie took up her work again. "If it were me, I think I should want to hear from him sometimes," she said, "or to see him. And you did feel like that at first."

"I know I did. Daddy not understanding, and putting everything wrong, made me sore and hurt all over, and with everybody. I was horrid even to Caroline, who is always so sweet. I think I was with you too, a little—just at first."

"No, you never were with me. But you were with him, though you tried not to show it. I never said so before, because I didn't want to trouble you."

"Did it seem to you like that?" Beatrix said thoughtfully. "I'm so happy now that I've forgotten. Well, I suppose at first I was hurt with him too. I couldn't understand his giving me up so easily. It seemed to me like that. But, of course, it wasn't. I ought to have trusted him. I think you must trust the people you love, even if you don't understand. You see he's been dying for me all the time. Mme. de Lassigny coming to Dad like that, and telling him—it's like having a window opened. I can see him now, wanting me, just as I want him. Perhaps I was a little doubtful about it, but I ought not to have been. I shan't be any more. Oh, I do trust him, and love him."

There had been another ring at the front door bell while she had been talking, and now Mrs. Mercer was shown into the room.

The little lady's manner was combined of effusiveness and nervousness. She had come to see Mrs. Walter, if she was well enough, but wouldn't hear of her being disturbed if she was resting. She could easily come at another time. She was so pleased to see Beatrix looking so well. But what a horrid change in the weather! It did look as if the summer had come to an end at last. She had really thought of lighting a fire this morning. No, she wouldn't sit down. She had heaps of things to do. If Mrs. Walter couldn't see her she would come in later.

Mollie thought her mother would be pleased to see her, and went upstairs. Mrs. Mercer did consent to sit down until she returned, but her manner was as jerky as before. Beatrix liked her and would have been ready to tell her the news that was filling her mind. But there was no opportunity before Mollie came back. Mrs. Mercer went upstairs with her, after shaking hands warmly with Beatrix, and saying that she supposed she would have gone before she came down again.

Mollie looked rather disturbed when she came back into the room and shut the door after her. Beatrix looked at her as she took her seat again, and said: "Tell me about it, Moll. You know we're friends, and I've told you everything about myself, and about RenÉ."

"Oh, well," said Mollie, with an intonation of relief. "I've told you everything so far. I'm afraid she has come to make trouble."

"And her husband has sent her, I suppose. I don't think she'd want to make trouble on her own account. She's nice."

"She is nice, isn't she? All of you think so, don't you?"

"Yes, we like her. If it weren't for her horrid husband we should like her very much. Unfortunately you can't divide them. She's too much under his thumb."

"I don't think I should put it quite like that," said Mollie hesitatingly.

"No, I know you wouldn't," said Beatrix quickly. "And that's why you can never get it quite straight. He is horrid, and he's horrid in nothing more than the way he treats you."

"He has always been very kind to me—to me and mother too. Really kind, I mean, up till a little time ago, before you came—and I don't want to forget it."

"Yes, kind, I suppose, in the way he'd have liked to be kind to us. If he had had his way we should have been bosom friends, and he'd have half-lived in the house."

"We hadn't anything to give him in return, as you would have had. It wasn't for that he was kind to us."

"My dear child, you know he's horrid—with girls. It was quite enough that you were a pretty girl."

"But he wasn't like that with me, B. I should have known it if he had been."

"No, you wouldn't, my dear. Vera Beckley never knew it till he tried to kiss her."

Mollie flinched a little at this directness. "Don't you think she may have made too much fuss about that?" she said. "He's years and years older than she is—old enough to be her father."

"Yes, of course, that's always the excuse. Moll darling, you haven't lived enough in the world. You don't know men. Besides Vera didn't make a fuss. Her people did, because they happened to catch him at it. It must have been a glorious occasion. I wish I'd been there. She only told us about it in strict confidence, and with the idea of opening your eyes."

"I still think she needn't have thought so much of it; and Mrs. Beckley needn't have, either. Anyhow, he has never kissed me. I don't think I should have thought anything of it if he had."

"I don't suppose you would. That's what they rely on—men like that—horrid old men. And you came here just after that had happened with Vera. Naturally he'd be a bit careful."

"I think you're rather horrid about it, yourself, B. I certainly have been angry the way he has behaved since, but I can't see that that comes in, and I don't believe it does."

"Well, I'm quite sure it does. But what do you think he has sent Mrs. Mercer here about?"

Mollie hesitated for a moment. "Mrs. Mercer has been talking lately," she said, "as if I had quite given them up since you came. You know—little bits stuck in every now and then, when she's talking about something else. 'Oh, of course, we can't expect to see much of you now, Mollie.' All that sort of thing. It makes me uncomfortable. And she wasn't like it at first. She was so pleased that I had made friends with you."

"He has talked her over to it. That's what I meant when I said she was under his thumb. Do you think he has sent her here then to complain to your mother?"

"I think she is talking me over with mother."

"But Mrs. Walter was angry when he interfered, wasn't she?"

"Oh, yes, she was. But she has made excuses for him since. He ought not to have said what he did. But he meant well."

"I think it was disgusting, what he said; perfectly outrageous. And I don't think he meant well either. It's all part of what I tell you. He hates anybody having anything to do with you but himself." She changed her tone. "Moll darling," she said coaxingly, "you might tell me about it. I've told you everything about myself."

Mollie took up her work, and kept her eyes fixed upon it. "Tell you about what," she asked. "I am telling you everything."

"You do like him, don't you? It's quite plain he likes you."

"What, the Vicar?"

Beatrix laughed, on a thrushlike note of enjoyment. "You know I don't mean the Vicar," she said. "What happens when you and he go off from the tennis lawn together?"

"Oh, you mean Bertie Pemberton," said Mollie, enlightened, but still keeping her eyes on her work. "They are going to give me some plants for the garden, and we have been choosing them. He knows a lot about flowers."

Beatrix laughed again. "Do you like him, Mollie?" she asked.

"Yes, of course I do," said Mollie. "But don't be silly about it, B. Can't a girl like a man without—without——You're just like what you complain about in the Vicar, and think so horrid in him."

"No, I'm not, my dear. The Vicar takes it for granted that he means nothing except just to amuse himself with a pretty girl. I don't think that at all. I know the signs. I've seen more of the world, and of men, than you have, Mollie. I know by the way he looks at you, and by the way he talks about you."

Mollie's face, which she never once raised, was pink. "It's very kind of him to interest himself in me," she said. "What does he say?"

Beatrix laughed again. "You're awfully sweet," she said affectionately. "He thinks you're so much nicer than all the smart young women in London. That was one for me, but I didn't show any offence. I said you were, and as good as gold. That seemed to surprise him rather, and I had to tell him why I thought so. He wanted to hear all about you. I think your ears must have burned. He thinks you're awfully kind. That was his great word for you. You know, I think he's awfully nice, Mollie. All the Pembertons are, when you get down beneath the noise they make. They love their country life, and all the nice things in it."

Mollie raised her eyes at last. "That's what I do like about him," she said, speaking steadily, but with the blush still on her cheeks. "I think I've found out that he really has simple tastes, though I shouldn't have thought it at first. He goes about a lot in London, but he doesn't really care about it. He says he makes a good deal of money, but what is the good of money if you're not living the life you want?"

There was a twinkle in Beatrix's eyes, but she replied gravely: "That's what he told me. He's had enough of it. He'd like himself much better living here on his allowance, and only going to London occasionally. I think if you were to advise him to do that, Mollie, he would."

Mollie took up her work again hastily. "Oh, I couldn't very well advise him about a thing like that," she said. "I don't know enough about it."

"Hasn't he asked your advice?"

"No, not exactly. He has only just mentioned it, and I said——"

"What did you say?"

"I said perhaps he would be happier living quietly in the country. I thought a quiet country life was the nicest of all."

"It wouldn't be very quiet where any of the Pembertons were, but——"

"Oh, but they only talk so loud because old Mr. Pemberton is so deaf. They are quite different when you are alone with one of them. Nora has told me a lot about herself. I like Nora very much, and I'm rather sorry for her in a way. She seems so independent and satisfied with everything, but she likes having a girl friend, all the same. Of course I don't love her as I do you, B; but I do like her, awfully. It's she who's really my friend at Grays."

"Is it?" said Beatrix, and laughed again, gently.

At that moment Mrs. Mercer was heard coming downstairs. She took her leave on the same note of hurried aloofness as that on which she had entered, and immediately afterwards Mrs. Walter knocked on the floor of her room above in summons of her daughter.

Beatrix kissed Mollie good-bye. "Don't be frightened, darling," she said. "We can easily get the better of Lord Salisbury between us. Come to tea this afternoon and tell me all about it."

Mrs. Walter, sitting up in bed with a dressing-jacket on her thin frame, looked flustered. "I think there is something in what she says, Mollie dear," she said at once. "I want to talk to you about it."

"I knew she had come to talk about me," said Mollie. "I told Beatrix so."

"Well, that is one of the things," said her mother. "Aren't you and Beatrix rather inclined to encourage each other in setting yourself against—against——"

"What, against the Vicar, Mother?"

"I didn't mean that. But there's Beatrix certainly setting herself against her father's wishes, and——"

"Oh, but Mr. Grafton has given way. She came to tell me so. She is not to see M. de Lassigny for six months, but after that they are to be allowed to be engaged."

Mrs. Walter was rather taken aback. "Oh!" she said. "Mrs. Mercer didn't know that."

"But what has it got to do with Mrs. Mercer, Mother? Or with the Vicar?—because, of course, it is he who has sent her. You know that the Graftons don't like the way in which he tries to direct them in their affairs. I told you that they had told me that. Surely it isn't for him or Mrs. Mercer to interfere in such a thing as B's engagement—and to try to do it through me!"

"I don't think they have any idea of interfering, but they do take a great interest in you, Mollie; and, of course, they were everything to you before the Graftons came. I can't wonder that they are a little hurt that you make such a very intimate friend of Beatrix, and that they feel themselves shut out now. At least—that Mrs. Mercer does. I don't think it is so much the Vicar. And you are wrong in thinking that he sent her. She said expressly that she came of her own accord. He didn't even know that she was coming."

"Oh!" said Mollie. She had a dim idea that he had had a good deal to do with her coming, all the same, but did not express the doubt, or even examine it.

"Mollie dear," said Mrs. Walter, with a sudden change of tone. "Is there anything between you and young Pemberton? I've hoped you would have said something to me. But you know, dear, it does seem a little as if everything were for Beatrix Grafton now."

Mollie was stricken to the heart. Her mother's thin anxious face, and the very plainness which sits heavily upon women who are middle-aged and tired, when they are without their poor armour of dress, seemed to her infinitely pathetic. She folded her mother with her warm fresh young body. "Oh, my darling," she said through her tears. "I love you better than anybody in the world. I shall never, never forget what you've done for me and been to me. I've only told you nothing because there's nothing to tell."

Mrs. Walter cried a little too. She had struggled for so many years to have her child with her, and it had seemed to her, with the struggle over, and peace and security settling down upon them both in this little green-shaded nest of home, that she had at last gained something that would fill the rest of her days with contentment. 'Some day' Mollie would marry; but she had never looked so far forward. It had been enough for her to take the rest and the love and companionship with gratitude and an always increasing sense of safety and contentment in it. But it had already become a little sapped. She was glad enough that her child should have found friends outside, as long as she remained unchanged at home, but the friction about it had disturbed her in her dreams of peace, and she wanted to be first with her daughter as long as she should keep her with her.

Mollie felt something of all of this on her behalf, and it brought a sense of compunction to her generous young heart. She loved her mother. It was not a case between them of satisfying the exigencies of a parent out of a sense of duty. It touched her deeply that her mother should show her she wanted her, and she responded instantly to the longing.

"If you don't want me to go to Grays any more I won't," she said, and had no feeling that she was making any renunciation as she said it.

"Well dear," said Mrs. Walter. "I do think it would be better if you didn't go quite so often. Every time you do go there is always that feeling that perhaps it would be better not—after what the Vicar said. I was annoyed about it then, but perhaps after all he saw more clearly than I did. He shouldn't have supposed, of course, that you were in any way to blame, and, if he thought that I was, he ought to have said so quietly to me alone. But perhaps it is true that by being at the beck and call of people, as you must rather seem to be to outsiders, considering the difference there is between the Pembertons and ourselves—— Don't you see what I mean, dear?"

"Yes, Mother," said Mollie submissively. She had a sense of forlornness as she said it, but put it away from her, sitting by her mother's side on the bed, with her arm around her shoulders. "I won't go there so much. I'll never go unless you tell me that you'd like me to. I'm afraid I've been gadding about rather too much, and neglecting you, darling. But you know I love to be with you best of all. We're very happy living here together, aren't we?"

Her tears flowed again, and once more when she left her mother to rest a little longer. But she busied herself resolutely about the house, and when a gleam of sun shone through the scudding clouds thought how happy she was living there with her mother. But she did not feel quite so happy as she ought to have done. It was as if she had closed for herself a window in the little cottage, which opened into a still brighter world.