tears and lamentations made up the story of the next few days.
“when’s the washing coming home? i’ve cried out all my handkerchiefs, and i get scolded if i sniff!” grumbled red-eyed jill on the evening of the third day after miles’ departure; and it appeared that most members of the family found themselves in the same predicament, for the first break in the family circle is a painful experience, especially when its members are as devoted as were the trevors.
it was a relief to all to watch the progress of the general’s wooing, and to have his genial presence among them. now that the evenings were beginning to be really summer-like, he and miss beveridge would adjourn to the square gardens after dinner, and sit on a bench not far removed from that historic spot where he had fallen a victim to the twins’ love of adventure. as a rule, so soon as dusk approached, miss beveridge would take an omnibus and return to her “home,” while the general would step stiffly into a cab and return to his flat, where the faithful johnson was no doubt wondering what had happened to induce such young habits in his once stay-at-home master. one night, however, instead of separating as usual, they returned to number 1, and the first glance at their faces showed that the dénouement had been reached. the general was red, miss beveridge was white; he was voluble with excitement, she was too excited to speak. mrs trevor read the signs of the times, and thoughtfully led the way to the drawing-room, so that the formal announcement of the engagement could be made away from the somewhat embarrassing scrutiny of the young people.
“alice has promised to let me take care of her! congratulate me, my dear madam. i am the happiest man in the world!” cried the excited irishman. “we have wasted enough time, but we are not going to waste any more. ‘haste to the wedding!’—that’s our motto. what? alice talks about clothes. fiddlesticks, i tell her! we can buy the finest dress in london in half an hour’s time, or my name’s not terence digby. then she talks about pupils. pack of rubbish, i tell her! there are fifty women in london wanting to give lessons, for every pupil who wants to learn. let someone else hear the ‘nid, nid, nodding’ for a change!” (this last was a dark reference to the scotch air with which poor pam had been wrestling for weeks past.) “‘a june wedding!’ always said i’d be married in june if i had the chance, and it’s a poor thing if i can’t have my way after waiting twenty years. don’t like july—nasty, treacherous month! best way to spend it is a honeymoon in the country. what? you’ll tell the boys and girls, eh? tell them after we’ve gone. too bashful to stand the racket to-night! besides, there’s johnson to face. bit of a pill to face johnson. what? don’t know what he’ll say to a mistress, but it will be all right when he sees alice. alice will get over him fast enough!”
it was charming to see the look of proud admiration which he cast at his fiancée; charming to see her changed and softened mien; charming to see the smile of complete and happy confidence which was exchanged between the two. for the first time for many days the weight of depression lifted from mrs trevor’s heart, and she forgot miles’ departure in rejoicing in their joy. her face had its old bright look as she re-entered the study to tell the news to her children, who, truth to tell, were not too sympathetic in their reception.
the three elders were, of course, more or less prepared for the announcement, but pam gasped in shocked surprise.
“married!” she cried shrilly. “but they are so old! what’s the good of being married, and having all the bother for nothing? they’ll be dead so soon!”
“it’s an awful fag. it won’t be half so much sport going to tea,” commented jill with outspoken selfishness, while jack shrugged his shoulders and grimaced disapproval.
“got everything he wants—rattling good food, all his relics and things around him, and johnson to save all bother. can’t think why he couldn’t be satisfied!”
only betty was silent, her heart warming with a tender sympathy over the story of an old and loyal love. miss beveridge was quite, quite old, over forty, and her hair was grey, yet the general called her a girl, and thought her beautiful still. somehow the thought had a direct personal comfort. other people might feel the same; and thirty—thirty was comparatively young!
the next day the general was taken in state to call upon nan vanburgh, who had heard from betty which way the wind was blowing, but had, of course, been obliged to preserve an unconscious demeanour until the engagement was a fait accompli.
“under providence, madam, i am indebted to you for this happiness!” cried the general, bowing over her hand in his courtly old-world fashion; and nan looked at him with what her friends called “the shiny look” in her eyes, and said, in the honest, big-girl fashion which she never seemed to outgrow—
“and i am so happy that you are happy that i could just jump for joy! it’s a perfectly beautiful ending to my saturday afternoons. i’m only a little bit jealous that mrs trevor has had you to herself all this time. now it’s my turn! what about the wedding? where is it to take place? are you perhaps going to some relation’s house?”
“no. neither of us owns anyone very near and dear, so we prefer to stay quietly in town.”
“then it must certainly be from here! you couldn’t dream of being married from the home, miss beveridge! come to me a few days before, and i’ll be your tire-woman, and help to get everything ready, and you shall have a nice breakfast and invite all your friends.”
but here the general interfered.
“no, no! no breakfast!” he cried. “none the less grateful to you, madam, but fuss and speechifying don’t come naturally to a man of my age. i want to get my wife to myself as soon as possible, so we’ll make a bolt of it from the church door. capital plan, though, to stay with you for a bit before. what? you’d like that, alice, wouldn’t you? need someone to fix your fal-lals. what? another debt of gratitude, madam, which we will hope to repay, god willing, when we settle down in our new home.”
miss beveridge gratefully accepted nan’s invitation, but when she went a step further and offered to assist in the choice of the wedding-dress, it appeared that the bridegroom had decided views of his own on the subject, and had already made his selection.
“she must wear blue! says it ought to be grey at her age! her age, indeed, as if she were an elderly woman! she was wearing blue when i saw her first, and she’s going to be married in blue, or i’ll know the reason why! blue dress, and a hat with blue feathers; and those trevor lassies shall be bridesmaids. must have bridesmaids, however quiet it is. what? besides, i owe them something, and it will be an excuse to give them their kit—white muslin and blue ribbons. that’s how young girls used to dress when i was a lad, and i’ve never seen anything to touch it. there will be no trouble about the dresses, madam. i’ve decided all that. you just tell me the name of a dressmaker—a tip-top dressmaker, mind you—and we’ll send in the order at once.”
the bride-elect turned to her friend with a somewhat horrified expression, but nan flashed a reassuring smile, and adroitly turned the subject in another direction.
“don’t worry!” she whispered, the first time that there was an opportunity for a quiet word. “the general shall have his way, and everything shall be charming into the bargain. i know of a dressmaker who could make sackcloth elegant. she will manufacture even the hat with blue feathers, so that you will never have had anything so becoming in your life. fortunately the general does not confine you to one shade of blue. and the muslins and blue ribbons will be wonderful filmy creations, as different from the early victorian stiffnesses as anything you can possibly imagine. how betty will enjoy herself!”
betty did! in all the course of her eighteen years, it was the first occasion on which she had been provided with an outfit with no regard to money, but simply to what would be prettiest and most becoming. the dress, the hat, the shoes, the gloves, the basket of pale-hued roses, were all perfect of their kind, and, to crown all, on the morning of the wedding there arrived two small morocco boxes, which, being opened, displayed two miniature gold watches, encircled with turquoise, and provided with blue enamel bows, by which they could be attached to the dress. jill’s whoops of delight might have been heard half-way across the square. there seemed nothing left to wish for in life, now that the long-dreamed-of “real gold” watch was actually in her grasp.
and so terence digby took alice beveridge to wife, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death did them part; and more than one spectator prayed fervently that the hour of separation should be long delayed, so that the reunited lovers might enjoy a peaceful golden summer.
they drove away from the church door, and when the bride thrust her blue-feathered toque out of the window to smile a radiant farewell, nan vanburgh nodded her pretty head at betty, and cried triumphantly—
“now behold for yourself what miracles love and home and appreciation can work! that was miss beveridge once on a time, and you called her a frump and a fright, but the real woman was that charming mrs digby, and the magician’s wand has brought her to life?”
