Harding of Allenwood

Her life at the Grange had been somewhat austere, and her relatives were old-fashioned people of high character who condemned what they called modern laxity. For all that, the adventuress roused her curiosity, and she watched her as she moved about the room. She drew near them, and Beatrice thought her eyes rested strangely on Harding for a moment. A strong scent floated about her – the same that had perfumed the note. Beatrice was startled, but she tried to persuade herself that she was mistaken. The adventuress passed on; but when Harding's companion left him she came up at once and gave him an inviting smile. He looked at her in surprise, but there was some color in his face. It was unthinkable that he should know the girl, but she stopped beside him.

"Craig," she cooed, "you don't pretend that you've forgotten me?"

Harding looked at her coldly.

"I have never seen you before in my life!" he said emphatically.

Coral laughed, and Beatrice noticed the music in her voice.

"Aw, come off!" she exclaimed. "What you giving us? Guess you've been getting rich and turned respectable."

Harding cast a quick glance round. Beatrice and Mrs. Mowbray sat near, and it would be difficult to defend himself to either. The girl had made an unfortunate mistake, or perhaps expected to find him an easy victim; now he began to understand the note. The blood filled his face and he looked guilty in his embarrassment and anger, for he saw that he was helpless. The hotel people would not interfere; and to repulse the woman rudely or run away from her was likely to attract the attention he wished to avoid.

"You have mistaken me for somebody else," he replied uneasily.

She gave him a coquettish smile.

"Well, I guess you're Craig Harding unless you've changed your name as well as your character. I reckoned you'd come back to me when I heard you were in town. You ought to feel proud I came to look for you, when you didn't answer my note."

There was something seductive and graceful in her mocking courtesy, but Harding lost his temper.

"I've had enough! You don't know me, and if you try to play this fool game I'll have you fired out!"

"That to an old friend – and a lady!" she exclaimed. "You've surely lost the pretty manners that made me love you."

Harding turned in desperation, and started to the door; but she followed, putting her hand on his shoulder, and some of the bystanders laughed. Beatrice, quivering with the shock, hated them for their amusement. Even if he were innocent, Harding had placed himself in a horribly humiliating position. But she could not think him innocent. All she had seen and heard condemned him.

Harding shook off the girl's hand and, perhaps alarmed by the look he gave her, she left him and soon afterward disappeared, but when he returned to the table Beatrice and her mother had gone. He was getting cool again, but he felt crushed, for no defense seemed possible. He could only offer a blunt denial which, in the face of appearances, could hardly be believed.

He left the hotel and spent an hour walking about the city, trying to think what he must do. When he returned a bell-boy brought him word that Mrs. Mowbray wished to see him in the drawing-room. Harding went up and found the room unoccupied except by Beatrice and her mother. The girl's face was white, but it was stern and she had her father's immovable look. Rising as he came in, she stood very straight, holding out a little box.

"This is yours," she said. "I must give it back to you. You will understand what that means."

Harding took the box, containing the ring he had given her, and steadily met her accusing eyes, though he could see no hope for him in them.

"I suppose there's no use in my saying that it's all a mistake or a wicked plot?"

"No; I'm afraid the evidence against you is too strong." She hesitated a moment, and he thought he saw some sign of relenting. "Craig," she begged, in a broken voice, "do go. I – I believed in you."

"You have no reason to doubt me now."

He turned to Mrs. Mowbray.

"Can't you be persuaded? I give you my solemn word – "

"Don't!" Beatrice interrupted. "Don't make it worse!"

"I'm sorry I must agree with my daughter's decision until I see more reason to change it than I can hope for at present," Mrs. Mowbray replied. "It would be better if you left us. We return to-morrow."

Her tone was final; and, with a last glance at Beatrice, Harding went out dejectedly.

CHAPTER XXVIII

FIRE AND HAIL

On the morning after her return from Winnipeg, Beatrice sat in her father's study, with Mowbray facing her across the table. He looked thoughtful, but not so shocked and indignant as she had expected.

"So you are determined to throw Harding over!"

"Yes," Beatrice said in a strained voice. "It seems impossible to do anything else."

"A broken engagement's a serious matter; we Mowbrays keep our word. I hope you're quite sure of your ground."

"What I heard left no room for doubt."

"Did you hear the man's defense?"

"I refused to listen," said Beatrice coldly. "That he should try to excuse himself only made it worse."

"I'm not sure that's very logical. I'll confess that Harding and I seldom agree, but one must be fair."

"Does that mean that one ought to be lenient?" Beatrice asked with an angry sparkle in her eyes.

Mowbray was conscious of some embarrassment. His ideas upon the subject were not sharply defined, but if it had not been his daughter who questioned him he could have expressed them better. Beatrice ought to have left her parents to deal with a delicate matter like this, but instead she had boldly taken it into her own hands. He had tried to bring up his children well, but the becoming modesty which characterized young women in his youth had gone.

"No," he answered; "not exactly lenient. But the thing may not be so bad as you think – and one must make allowances. Then, a broken engagement reflects upon both parties. Even if one of them has an unquestionable grievance, it proves that that person acted very rashly in making a promise in the first instance."

"Yes," said Beatrice; "that is my misfortune. I was rash and easily deceived. I made the bargain in confiding ignorance, without reserve, while the man kept a good deal back."

"But your mother tells me that he declared he had never seen the woman; and Harding is not a liar."

"I used to think so, but it looks as if I were mistaken," Beatrice answered bitterly as she turned away.

Leaving him, she found a quiet spot in the shadow of a bluff, and sat down to grapple with her pain. It had hurt more than she had thought possible to cast off Harding, and she could bear her trouble only by calling pride to her aid. There was, she told herself, much about the man that had from the first offended her, but she had made light of it, believing him steadfast and honorable. Now she knew she had been deceived. She had been ready to throw away all the privileges of her station; she had disregarded her friends' opinion – and this was her reward! The man for whom she would have made the sacrifice was gross and corrupt; but nobody should guess that she found it strangely hard to forget him.

Lance came upon her, there at the edge of the woods; but her head was buried in her arms and she did not see him. The boy turned at once and went to have a talk with his father. His expression was very resolute when he entered Mowbray's study.

"What are you going to do about Bee's trouble, sir?" he asked abruptly.

His father gave him an amused smile.

"I haven't decided," he said. "Have you anything useful to suggest?"

"I feel that you ought to put it right."

"Can you tell me how?"

"No. Of course, it's a delicate matter; but you have a wider knowledge and experience."