"It's that that worries me in Bell," the good woman was often heard to say. "When a thing is as plain as the nose on his face he won't see it. And not all my hints will make him see it. Hints!—You might hint forever to Bell, and he wouldn't know what you were driving at."

 

These remarks Mrs. Bell had made, times without number, concerning her spouse, but never had ehe more cause to give utterance to them than on the present occasion. For just when the whole party were seated at supper, and she by the boldest manoeuvres had placed Captain Bertram next to herself by the coffee-tray, and had planted Matty at his other side, so that he was in a measure hemmed in, and if he did not talk to Matty had no one to fall back on but herself, who, of course, would quickly, using the metaphor of battledore and shuttlecock, toss him back to her daughter—having arranged all this, what should Bell do but put his foot in it?

 

"Captain Bertram," he called in his thin voice across the table, "I hope you enjoyed your row, and I'm proud to see you at my humble board. But come up here, my good young sir; you're quite smothered by the missis and the teacups. We have fine room at this end, haven't we, Beatrice? You come away up here, Captain Bertram, where you'll have room to use your elbows; the missis mustn't keep you to herself altogether, that ain't fair play."

 

"Oh, we're as comfortable as possible, Peter," almost screamed Mrs. Bell.

 

But in vain. The captain was too acute a person not to seize this opportunity. He said a courteous word or two to Mrs. Bell, apologized for having already crowded her, smiled at Matty, and then with a light heart seated himself beside Beatrice.

 

After this, matters seemed to go wrong as far as the Bells were concerned. It is true that after supper Beatrice called Matty to her side, and looked over a photographic album with her, and tried hard to draw her into the gay conversation and to get her to reply to the light repartee which Captain Bertram so deftly employed. But, alas for poor Matty she had no conversational powers; she was only great at interjections, at ceaseless giggling, and at violent and uncontrollable fits of blushing. Even Beatrice felt a sense of repulsion at the very open way in which Matty played her innocent cards. Matty was in love, and she showed it by voice, look and gesture. Beatrice tried to shield her, she was mortified for her, and felt a burning sense of resentment against the captain.

 

In spite, however, of the resentment of the one girl, and the too manifest admiration of the other, this hero managed to have pretty much his own way. Beatrice had to reply to his sallies, she was forced to meet his eyes; now and then even he drew a smile from her.

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