“No,” replied Mabel.  “He is a dear, gentlemanly old man.”

“Don’t use that expression, my love.  It is my object in life that all your acquaintances in the world of men should be gentlemen.  It is unnecessary therefore to specify any one by a term which must apply to all.”

Mrs. Bertram then asked Mabel to reply to Mr. Ingram’s note.  The reply was a warm acceptance, and Mr. Ingram cheered those of his parishioners who pined for the acquaintance of the great lady, with the information that they would certainly meet her at the bazaar.

Accordingly when the fateful day arrived the town was empty, and the Fisherman’s Hall (Northbury was a seaport), in which the bazaar was held was packed to overflowing.  Accordingly Mrs. Bertram in a neat little brougham, which she had hired for the occasion, dropped her cards from house to house in peace; accordingly, too, she caught the maids-of-all-work in their undress toilets, and the humble homes looking their least pretentious.

The bazaar was nearly at an end, when at last, accompanied by her two plainly-dressed, but dainty looking girls, she appeared on the scene.

The Northbury folk had all been watching for her.  Those who had been fortunate enough to enter the sacred precincts of the Manor watched with interest, mingled with approval. (Her icy style was quite comme-il-faut, they said.) Those who had been met by the frightened handmaid’s “not at home” watched with interest, mixed with disapproval, but all, all waited for Mrs. Bertram with interest.

“How late these fashionable people are,” quote Miss Peters.  “It’s absolutely five o’clock.  My dear Martha, do sit down and rest yourself.  You look fit to drop.  I’ll keep an eye on the door and tell you the very moment Mrs. Bertram comes in.  Mrs. Gorman Stanley has promised to introduce us.  Mrs. Gorman Stanley was fortunate enough to find Mrs. Bertram in.  It was she who told us about the drawing-room at the Manor.  Fancy!  Mrs. Bertram has only a felt carpet on her drawing-room.  Not even a red felt, which looks warm and wears.  But a sickly green!  Mrs. Gorman Stanley told me as a fact that the carpet was quite a worn-out shade between a green and a brown; and the curtains—­she said the drawing room curtains were only cretonne.  You needn’t stare at me, Martha.  Mrs. Gorman Stanley never makes mistakes.  All the same, though she couldn’t tell why, she owned that the room had a distingue effect. En regle, that was it; she said the room was en regle.”

“Maria, if you could stop talking for a moment and fetch me an ice, I’d be obliged,” answered Mrs. Butler.  “Oh!” standing up, “there’s Mrs. Gorman Stanley.  How do you do, Mrs. Gorman Stanley?  Our great lady hasn’t chosen to put in her appearance yet.  For my part I don’t suppose she’s any better than the rest of us, and so I say to Maria.  Well, Maria, what’s the matter now?”