On the evening after her strange interview with Josephine Hart, Beatrice put on her hat, and coming down to her mother where she sat as usual in the pleasant drawing-room, told her that she was going to see Mr. Ingram.

“It is rather late to-night, surely, child?”

“No, mother, it is not too late.  I want particularly to see Mr. Ingram to-night.”

“Are you well, Bee?  Your voice sounds tired.”

“I am quite well, dear mother.  Kiss me.  I won’t stay longer away than I can help.”

She left the house.  It was getting dusk now, and the distance between the Gray House and the Rectory was not small.  But no Northbury girl feared to be out alone, and Beatrice walked quickly, and before long reached her destination.

The Rector was in—­Beatrice would find him in his study.  The old housekeeper did not dream of conducting Miss Meadowsweet to this apartment.  She smiled at her affectionately, told her she knew the way herself, and left her.

When Beatrice entered the study the Rector got up and took his favorite by both her hands.

“I am glad to see you, my child,” he said.  “I was just feeling the slightest soupcon of loneliness, so you have come in opportunely.  Sit down, Bee.  I suppose Bertram will call for you presently.”

Beatrice did not make any response to this remark, but she drew a little cane chair forward and sat down.

“Except your mother, no one will miss you more than I shall when you leave us, Beatrice,” said the Rector.  “You are quite right to go, my dear.  Quite right.  I see a useful and honorable career before you.  But I may be allowed just once to say that I shall be lonely without my favorite.”

“Dear Rector,” said Beatrice.  She came a little nearer, and almost timidly laid her hand on his knee.  Then she looked in his face.  “I am not going to leave you,” she said.

“God bless my soul!  What do you mean, child?  Is anything wrong?  You don’t look quite yourself.  Has that young scoundrel—­if I thought—­” the Rector got up.  His face was red, he clenched his hand in no clerical style.

Beatrice also rose to her feet.

“He is not a scoundrel,” she said.  “Although if our engagement had gone on, and I had been married to Captain Bertram, he would have been one.”

“Then you are not engaged?  You have broken it off.”

“I am not engaged.  I have released Captain Bertram from his engagement to me.”

“Beatrice!  I did not expect this from you.  His mother is attached to you—­so are his sisters, while he himself, poor lad—!  Bee, it was better you should find out your heart in time, but I am surprised—­I am grieved.  You should have known it before—­before things went as far as this, my dear girl.”

“Please, Mr. Ingram, listen to me.  Sit down again, for I have a long story to tell.  I have not changed my mind, nor am I guilty of any special fickleness.  But circumstances have arisen which make it impossible for me to keep my engagement.  Captain Bertram sees this as plainly as I do.  He is very thankful to be released.”