It Began in Vauxhall Gardens

"He's bewitched you as he has Melisande. That's what men were like in the old days."

"Well, we'll see. But I'd like our little French Melly to be a happy little girl, that I would."

"She will. She'll marry Beddoes and live happy ever after. And we shall have done our duty."

"And earned our money."

"Don't be vulgar, Polly. In time she'll understand that sober marriage and a bank balance are worth all the blue-eyed wooers in the world ... in the long run, of course."

But Polly sighed; and Fenella sighed; they were romantics at heart.

So the meetings between the lawyer and Melisande were encouraged and, a month or so after Lucie's wedding, Andrew Beddoes asked Melisande to marry him.

"I know it seems sudden to you, Miss St. Martin," he said, "but I think it is partly due to seeing the happiness of my friend, Francis Grey. I won't deny that I have given this matter a great deal of thought. I have even discussed it with Grey. He is fond of you, and his wife loves you dearly. We could be near neighbours of theirs and we—he and I—might even consider joining together in a business relationship."

"I ... I see," said Melisande.

She looked at his clear, honest-looking eyes, at his serious face. Fermor had made her expect more passion in a proposal; but this was, of course, a different proposition from that which Fermor had made. She thought of Leon, whose proposal had been of yet another nature. Was she as fond of this lawyer as she had been of L£on ? It was hard to say. Then she had been i

In every way Andrew was admirable; in every way Fermor was disreputable. A wise girl would have had no difficulty in deciding; unfortunately Melisande was not wise.

But she was learning more and more about this establishment in which she found herself. She listened to the chatter of the girls. Lucie had warned her that it was not wise to stay too long with Fenella. If one did sooner or later one might become as Daisy, Kate and Mary Jane. They were such jolly girls—so full of fun and laughter—but what did the future hold for them ? Jane and Hilda, two seamstresses, had been desirable once; they liked to talk to the three jolly girls while they remembered wistfully that that was how they were once. Now they sat sewing for a living, and the privilege

of doing so they owed to the benevolence of Fenella Cardingly.

She must get away from this house. She was sure that Sir Charles was ignorant of its nature. She did not believe he would have sent her there had he known. Lucie was right. A girl must not stay too long at Fenella's. She had only yesterday wandered into the room which was set apart from the rest of the house, and in which was the Bed of Fertility. She had smelt the heavy perfumed air, had seen with shocked dismay the statues and pictures. It was an embarrassing experience.

Now this young man was offering her escape—not only from Fermor and the tragedy which any weakness on her part would surely bring to Caroline, but from Fenella and her mysterious establishment.

"Well," said Andrew, "what is your answer, Mademoiselle St. Martin?"

"I ... I don't know. I want time to think of it."

"Of course, of course. I have been rash. I have spoken too soon."

She smiled at him. He would never be rash; he would never speak too soon. From his point of view at least, she knew there would be no doubt. She was not surprised. Young as she was she had been much admired.

"How long would you like to consider this ?" he asked eagerly.

"Oh ... a few days. . . . Perhaps a week."

"Then you will give me your answer not later than a week from to-day?"

"Yes, but there are things you should know about me."

"Nothing could change my feelings about you."

"You are very good, Mr. Beddoes," she said. "I shall always remember how good."

He kissed her hand and left her; and she decided then that she would be very foolish if she did not accept his offer of marriage.

Fenella sent for her. Fenella was well satisfied. She lay on her chaise longue and held out her hand. Taking Melisande's she patted it. "Dear child, Mr. Beddoes has spoken to me. You know of what." "I can guess."

"He is a good man, my dear." "I know he is." "And you will agree to marry him?"

"I have not yet made up my mind. He has given me a week to decide."

"I hope," said Fenella, picking up the ivory fan which was within her reach, "that you will decide to be wise."

"Sometimes that which appears to be wise turns out unwise."

"Not with a man like Andrew Beddoes, my dear. He knows where he's going. He will be a successful lawyer in a few years' time. Doubtless he will make a fine name for himself. He might get a knighthood. That wouldn't surprise me at all."

"Is it easier to live with people who have titles than those without?"

"Ha! It is an easier matter to live with a successful man than a failure. Don't be deceived by ideas about bread and cheese and kisses. They don't work after the first few weeks, and we want to see you settled for life. I won't deny I hoped you might marry into the peerage. A girl with looks like yours might have done so twenty years ago. But now, my dear, society is changing. The men who could offer you a grander marriage than this one wouldn't offer you marriage at all."

"Is it not a question of affection ?"

"That comes into it. But you are fond of him?"

"I admire him."

"Admiration is as good a basis as love. We seek to turn those we love into the perfect beings of our imagination. Those whom we admire we emulate. Yes, mutual admiration is a very good basis for marriage."

"Madam, I am rather bewildered. Why did my father send me to you? Why did he say I was to be apprenticed to a dressmaker when . . ."

"He could not have explained me nor my establishment to you, dear. Nobody could. I hope you have been happy here. Perhaps you have seen certain things which it was not good for you to see. Here each lives her own life. What is good for one may be bad for another. The chief quality we have is tolerance. You can't go far wrong in being tolerant, dear. Then you don't condemn; you don't blame. You say simply: 'That way is not the way I wish to go.' No more than that. Nobody is unhappy here. That is how I weigh the good and the bad. Happiness is good; sorrow is bad. If I give happiness, that is good enough for me."

"I see. And you would be happy if I accepted Mr. Beddoes ?"

"It is the best thing that could happen to you. I should be pleased; your father would be pleased."

"My father!"