CHAPTER XVI

MR. BETTISON PROPOSES

Mr. Bettison could make nothing of Diana of late. Her demeanour, at

first so charming and so cheerful, had become listless, and even

chilling. She seemed hardly to listen to some of his best tales, and

twice she actually forgot to laugh at what was surely a most witty

pleasantry. It struck him that she regarded him with a resentful eye, as

if she objected to his presence at Horton House, and had no desire to be

courted. But Mr. Bettison was far too egotistic to believe such a thing,

and he brushed the incredible suspicion away, deciding that her coldness

was due to a very proper shyness. He continued his visits until they

became so frequent that scarce a day passed without his strutting step

being heard approaching the house and his voice inquiring for the Miss

Beauleighs. Mr. Beauleigh, who secretly hoped for Mr. Bettison as a

son-in-law, would not permit the ladies to deny themselves, and he

further counselled Miss Betty to absent herself after the first few

moments, leaving the young couple together. Thus it was that it so

continually fell to Diana's lot to receive the Squire and to listen to

his never-ending monologues. She persistently snubbed him, hoping to

ward off the impending proposal, but either her snubs were not severe

enough, or Mr. Bettison's skin was too thick to feel them; for not a

fortnight after my lord's departure, he begged her hand in marriage. It

was refused him with great firmness, but, taking the refusal for

coquettishness, he pressed his suit still more amorously, and with such

a self-assured air that Mistress Di became indignant.

"Sir," she cried, "it seems you have indeed misread my attitude towards

you!"

Mr. Bettison was struck dumb with amazement. It had never entered his

brain that Diana could seriously refuse him. He could hardly believe his

ears at this quite unmistakable tone of voice, and sat gaping.

"I must beg," continued Diana, "I must beg that you will discontinue

your all-too-frequent visits here. Please do not deem me unkind, but

your persecution of me--I can call it nothing else--is

wearying--and--you will forgive the word--tiresome. I confess I am

surprised that you had not perceived your attentions to be distasteful

to me."

"Distasteful!" cried Mr. Bettison, recovering after two or three

unsuccessful attempts from his speechlessness. "Do you mean what you

say, Miss Diana? That you will not wed me?"

She nodded.

"Yes, Mr. Bettison, I do."

"And that my attentions are displeasing to you! Well, Miss Beauleigh!

Well, indeed!"

Diana softened a little.

"I am indeed sorry that you should have misconstrued--"

"No misconstruction, madam!" snapped the Squire, who was fast losing

control over his temper. "Do you dare aver that you did not encourage me

to visit you?"

"I do, most emphatically!"

"Oh, I see what 'tis! You cannot hoodwink me. 'Twas never thus with you

before that fellow came!"

"Mr. Bettison, I am entirely at a loss, but I desire you to leave this

room before you say aught you may afterwards regret."

He disregarded her.

"You are infatuated by that over-dressed popinjay--that insufferable

Carr, who, from all I hear, is but a shady fellow, and who--"

With a sweeping movement Diana had risen and walked to the bell-rope.

She now pulled it with such vigour that a great peal sounded throughout

the house.

She stood perfectly still, a statue of Disdain, tall, beautiful and

furious, with compressed lips and head held high. Mr. Bettison broke off

and mopped his brow, glaring at her.

Startled Thomas appeared at the door.

"Did you ring, madam?"

"Show Mr. Bettison out," was the proud answer.

The Squire got up awkwardly.

"I am sure I apologise if I said aught that was untrue," he mumbled. "I

hope you will not take my words amiss--"

"I shall try to forget your insults, sir," she replied. "The door,

Thomas!"

Mr. Bettison went out, and his step had lost some of its self-confident

swagger.

For a full minute after the great front door had shut behind him, Diana

stood where she was, and then the colour suddenly flamed in her cheeks,

and she turned and ran out of the room, up the stairs, to her own

chamber, where she indulged in a luxurious fit of crying. From this

enjoyable occupation she was interrupted by a rap on the door, and Miss

Betty's voice desiring to know if she was within.

She instantly started up and with hasty fingers straightened her tumbled

curls.

"Pray enter!" she called, trying to sound jaunty. To complete the

illusion, she started to hum. Her aunt entered.

"I came to see if you had my broidery. I cannot find it, and I am sure

'twas you brought it in from the garden this morning."

"Yes--oh, yes--I am so sorry! 'Tis in that corner on the chair, I

think," replied Diana, keeping her face averted.

Miss Betty cast a shrewd glance at her, and sat down on the sofa with

the air of one who means to stay.

"What is it, my love?" she demanded.

Diana pretended to search for something in a cupboard.

"Nothing, aunt! What should there be?"

"I do not know. 'Tis what I want to find out," answered Miss Betty

placidly.

"There is nought amiss, I assure you!" To prove the truth of this

statement, Diana essayed a laugh. It was a poor attempt, and wavered

pitifully into a sob.

"My pet, don't tell me! You are crying!"

"I--I'm n-not!" avowed Diana, hunting wildly for her

pocket-handkerchief. "'Tis a cold in the head I have had these three

days."

"Indeed, my love? Longer than that, I fear."

"Yes--perhaps so--I--What do you mean?"

"I doubt but what you caught it the day that Mr. Carr left us."

Diana started.

"P-pray, do not be ridiculous, auntie!"

"No, my dear. Come and sit beside me and tell me all about it," coaxed

Miss Betty.

Diana hesitated, gave a damp sniff, and obeyed.

Miss Betty drew her head down on to her shoulder soothingly.

"There, there! Don't cry, my sweet! What has happened?"

"'Tis that odious Mr. Bettison!" sobbed Diana "He--he had the audacity

to ask me to m-marry him!"

"You don't say so, my love! I thought I heard him arrive. So you sent

him about his business?"

"N-not before he had time to insult m-me!"

"Insult you? Di!"

"He--he dared to insinuate--oh no! he accused me outright--of being

infatuated by Mr. Carr! Infatuated!"

Over her head Miss Betty opened her eyes at her own reflection in the

glass.

"The brute! But, of course, 'tis true?"

No answer.

"Is it not?"

The sobs came faster.

"Of--of course 'tis true, but h-how dared he say so?"

"Di, my love, you really are in love with that boy?"

"I--I--I asked him to marry me--and he wouldn't!"

"Good gracious heavens!" Miss Betty was genuinely horrified. "My dear

Diana!"

"N-not outright--b-but he understood--and--he loves me! And I'd do it

again to-morrow, if I could--immodest or no! So there!"

"Yes, yes," soothed Miss Betty hastily. "Tell me all about it." Diana

lifted her head.

"That's all. And he loves me--he does--he does!"

"Did he say so?"

"N-no--but I could tell. And I love him"--sob--"and I'd sooner die than

live without him, and he won't ask me b-because he has not got a

spotless p-past, and he'd be a cur, and horrid things, and my husband

must not be an--an--outcast, and-and--and I don't care!"

Her bewildered aunt unravelled this with difficulty.

"He'd be a cur if he asked you to marry him?" she asked, with knitted

brows.

"Yes. Because he's a highwayman."

"A highwayman! Then 'twas true what he said? Well, well! I should never

have thought it! That nice boy!"

Diana disengaged herself; in her eyes was a threatening gleam.

"Don't dare say a word against him!"

"No, no--of course not! I was only surprised. But I am thankfully glad

he did not ask you, for all that!"

"Glad? How can you be so cruel?"

"My dear, you could not possibly marry--a--a--"

"Common felon!" sobbed Diana. "I can--I can!"

"And heaven alone knows what else he may have done! Why, child, he said

himself that he had a--a spotty past!"

At this her niece gave a tearful giggle.

"La! What ails you now, Di?"

"H-he never said--spotty."

Miss Betty smiled reluctantly.

"A doubtful past, then."

"I don't believe it!"

Her aunt pursed up her lips.

"I won't believe it. He couldn't be wicked. You forget he saved me!"

Miss Betty relented.

"No, I do not, my love; and, to be sure, I think he is a dear boy, but I

also think 'twas very right of him to go away."

She was enveloped in a rapturous embrace.

"Auntie, you know you love him almost as much as I do?"

"No, that I do not!" was the grim retort. "_I_ am not like to want to

marry him!"

There was another watery giggle at this, and Diana went over to the

dressing-table to tidy her hair.

"I doubt I shall never see him again," she said wretchedly. "Oh, auntie,

if you could but have seen his dear, unhappy eyes!"

"Stuff and nonsense! Not see him again, forsooth! He will call upon us

in town. 'Tis but common politeness."

"You forget he is a highwayman, and not like to come nigh us again."

"Well, my dear, if he cares for you as you say he does, he will see to

it that he takes up some decent occupation. Mayhap, he will go into the

army, or what not. Then wait and see if he does not come to you."

"Do you think so?" doubtfully.

"Of course I do, sweetheart! And if he does not try to mend his ways,

and you see him no more--why then, snap your fingers at him, my love,

for he will not be worth one tear!"

Diana sighed and poured out some water to bathe her face with.

"Is not that sensible?" coaxed her aunt.

She raised her head and looked unutterable scorn.

"I think 'tis remarkable silly," she answered. Then her dignity fell

from her. "Oh, are all men such big stupids?" she cried.

"Most of 'em," nodded her aunt.

"But can't he tell that I shall be--oh, so miserable, and that I should

not ruin my life if I married him?"

"My dear, once a man gets an idea into his head, 'tis the very devil to

get it out of him! Not but what I think Master Jack is right, mind you.

And your dear papa and I had looked higher for you. After all--what is

Mr. Carr?"

"He is the only man I will ever marry! So you may cease looking higher

for me! I suppose you want me to marry that great gaby, Sir Denis

Fabian, you are for ever inviting to the house? Or, perhaps, this

gallant Mr. Bettison? Or Mr. Everard? How _can_ you be so unkind?"

"I am not. But I could not bear to see you throw yourself away on a

highwayman, my dear."

Diana ran to her, putting her arms round her neck.

"Dearest auntie, forgive my rudeness! I know you did not mean to be

unkind! But you do not understand--I _love_ him."

"I always said you'd take it badly," nodded Miss Betty gloomily.

"Take what badly?"

"Love. And no man is worth one tear-drop, sweet."

The confident, tender little laugh that answered this statement made her

look at her suddenly changed niece in surprise.

"You don't know," said Diana. Her eyes were soft and luminous. "You just

do not know."

Before Miss Betty could think of a suitable retort, a knock fell on the

door. It was opened, and Thomas was found to be without.

"My Lady O'Hara is below, madam."

For an instant the two ladies stared at one another. Then:

"La and drat!" said Miss Betty. "With the drawing-room in a muddle after

cleaning!"

Diana nodded to the man.

"We will come, Thomas." Then as soon as he had withdrawn, she stared

again at her aunt. "Lady O'Hara! But why?"

"I suppose she felt she must call after Sir Miles had been here so

often. But why, for goodness' sake, must she choose the one day that the

drawing-room is all untidy? Drat again, I say!"

Diana was powdering her little nose, and anxiously looking to see if the

tear-stains had quite vanished.

"'Tis not untidy, Aunt Betty. Oh, I am quite eager to see her--I think

she must be charming, from all Sir Miles said. Do hurry, aunt!"

Miss Betty stuck a pin into her hair and smoothed out her dress.

"And me in this old taffeta!" she grumbled.

Diana swirled round, her own peach-coloured silk rustling fashionably.

"Never mind, dear--you look very sweet. But _do_ be quick!" Miss Betty

suffered herself to be led to the door.

"'Tis all very fine for you, my love, with a new gown fresh on to-day!

Will you just take a look at my petticoat, though?"

"Nonsense, you are beautiful! Come!"

Together they descended the stairs, and went into the drawing-room.

A dainty, very diminutive little lady arose from a chair at their entry,

and came forward with outstretched hands, and such a fascinating smile

that Miss Betty's ill-humour vanished, and she responded to her

visitor's deep curtsy with one of her best jerky dips.

"I am vastly delighted to welcome you, madam," she said primly. "'Tis

good in you to come this long way to see us."

She drew a chair forward for my lady, and presented her niece. Lady

O'Hara gave the girl a swift, scrutinising glance, and curtsied again.

"'Tis a great pleasure to me to meet you at last, Miss Beauleigh," she

smiled. "My husband has told me so much of you, I declare I was all agog

to meet you!"

Diana warmed instantly to the little lady's charm.

"Indeed, madam, we, too, have heard much of you from Sir Miles. _We_

have wanted to meet _you_!"

Lady O'Hara seated herself and nodded briskly.

"I expect he told you some dreadful tales of me," she said happily. "I

must ask your pardon for not having visited you before, but, as I

daresay you know, I have been away, and, gracious me, when I returned

everything seemed topsy-turvy!" She laughed across at Miss Betty. "I

promise you I have had my hands full putting things to rights, Miss

Beauleigh!"

Miss Betty drew her chair closer, and in a minute they were deep in

truly feminine conversation: the prodigious extravagance of the

servants; the helplessness of men-folk when left to themselves, and then

London, its shops, its parks, the newest play.

Lady O'Hara was begged to take a dish of Miss Betty's precious Bohea--a

very high honour indeed--and when Mr. Beauleigh came into the room he

found his sister and daughter seated on either side of a pretty,

animated little lady whom he had never before seen, talking hard, and

partaking of tay and angel cakes. Whereupon he retired hastily and shut

himself up in his library.