A Life's Morning

‘I’m not sure that I should do so, but I want to explain how Beatrice regards it.’

‘She defends him?’ cried Mr. Athel.

‘Yes, she does. At present there is only one thing I fear for her, and that is a refusal on your part to carry out her wishes. Beatrice has made up her mind that as little trouble as possible shall result. I bring, in fact, the most urgent request from her that you, Mr. Athel, and you, Mrs. Birks, will join in a sort of conspiracy to make things smooth for Wilfrid. She desires—it is no mere whim, I believe her health depends upon it—that no obstacle whatever may be put in the way of Wilfrid’s return to society with his wife. We are to act as though this old engagement had come to an end by mutual agreement, and as approving the marriage. This is my niece’s serious desire.’

‘My dear Mrs. Baxendale!’ murmured the listening lady. ‘How very extraordinary! Are you quite sure—’

‘Oh, this surely is out of the question,’ broke in her brother. ‘That Beatrice should make such a request is very admirable, but I—uh—I really—’

Mr. Athel paused, as if expecting and hoping that someone would defeat his objections.

‘I admit it sounds rather unreal,’ pursued Mrs. Baxendale, ‘but fortunately I can give you good evidence of her sincerity. She has visited the lady who is now Mrs. Athel, and that with the express purpose of representing herself as nothing more than a friend of Wilfrid’s. You remember she had a slight acquaintance with Miss Hood. After this I don’t see how we can refuse to aid her plan.’

‘She visited Miss Hood?’ asked Mrs. Birks, with the mild amazement of a lady who respects her emotions. ‘Does Wilfrid know that?’

‘Beatrice asked his permission to go.’

‘This is altogether beyond me,’ confessed Mr. Athel, drawing down his waistcoat and taking a turn across the room. Of course, if they have been amusing themselves with a kind of game, well, we have nothing to do but to regret that our invitation to join in it has come rather late. For my own part, I was disposed to take a somewhat more serious view. Of course it’s no good throwing away one’s indignation. I—uh—but what is your own attitude with regard to this proposal, Mrs. Baxendale?’

‘I think I must be content to do my niece’s bidding,’ said the lady addressed.

‘There’s one thing, it seems to me, being lost sight of,’ came from Mrs. Birks, in the disinterested tone of a person who wishes to deliver with all clearness an unpleasant suggestion. ‘We are very much in the dark as to Miss Hood’s—I should say Mrs. Athel’s—antecedents. You yourself,’ she regarded Mrs. Baxendale, ‘confess that her story is very mysterious. If we are asked to receive her, really—doesn’t this occur to you?’

At this moment the door opened and amid general silence Beatrice came forward. Mrs. Birks rose quickly and met her. Mrs. Baxendale understood at a glance what had brought her niece here. Agitation had grown insupportable. It was not in Beatrice’s character to lie still whilst others decided matters in which she had supreme interest. The more difficult her position the stronger she found herself to support it. The culmination of the drama could not be acted with her behind the scenes.

Mrs. Birks, with a whispered word or two, led her to a seat. Beatrice looked at her aunt, then at Mr. Athel. The proud beauty of her face was never more impressive. She smiled as if some pleasant trifle were under discussion.

‘I heard your voice as I came in,’ she said to Mrs. Birks, bending towards her gracefully. ‘Were you on my side?’

‘I’m afraid not, dear, just then,’ was the reply, given in a corresponding tone of affectionateness.

‘You will tell me what you were saying?’

Mr. Athel looked as uncomfortable as even an English gentleman can in such a situation. Mrs. Baxendale seemed to be finding amusement in observing him. The lady appealed to plucked for a moment at her sleeve.

‘May I make a guess?’ Beatrice pursued. ‘It had something to do with the private circumstances of the lady Mr. Wilfrid Athel has married?’

‘Yes, Beatrice, it had.’

‘Then let me help you over that obstacle, dear Mrs. Birks. I have heard from herself a full explanation of what you are uneasy about, and if I were at liberty to repeat it you would know that she has been dreadfully unhappy and has endured things which would have killed most women, all because of her loyalty and purity of heart. I think I may ask you to give as much effect to my words as if you knew everything. Mrs. Athel is in every respect worthy to become a member of your family.’

Her voice began to express emotion,

‘Mr. Athel, you are not against me? It is so hard to find no sympathy. I have set my heart on this. Perhaps I seem to ask a great deal, but I—have I not some little—’

‘My dear Miss Redwing,’ broke in Mr. Athel then, correcting himself, ‘My dear Beatrice, no words could convey the anxiety I feel to be of service to you. You see how difficult it is for me to speak decidedly, but I assure you that I could not possibly act in opposition to your expressed desire. Perhaps it would be better for me to withdraw. I am sure these ladies—’

His speech hung in mid-air, and he stood nervously tapping his fingers with his eyeglass.

‘No, please remain,’ exclaimed Beatrice. ‘Aunt, you are not against me? Mrs. Birks, you won’t refuse to believe what I have told you?’

The two ladies glanced at each other. In Mrs. Baxendale’s look there was appeal.

‘Indeed, I believe you implicitly, my dear Beatrice,’ said Mrs. Birks. ‘My brother is the one to decide. You are mistaken in thinking I oppose your wish. How could I?’

The last words were very sweetly said. With a smile which did not pass beyond her lips, Beatrice rose from her seat and held her hand to Mr. Athel.

‘Then it is understood? When Wilfrid brings his wife to you, you receive her with all kindness. I have your promise?’