“My dear Catherine!  The nice people!  And when you knew my express wishes!”

“Yes, mother, but they weren’t mine.  And I had to be truthful, at any cost.  Beatrice was standing not far off, and when I said this my eye met hers, and we both smiled.  Then the rector introduced me to her, and we mutually voted the bazaar close and hot, and went out to watch the tennis players in the garden.  We had a jolly time.  I have not laughed so much since I came to this slow, poky corner of the world.”

“And what were you doing, Mabel?” questioned her mother.  “Did you, too, pick up an undesirable acquaintance and march away into the gardens with her?  Was your new friend also fresh, delightful and dear?”

“I wish she had been, mother,” answered Mabel, her tone still very petulant.  “But I hadn’t Kate’s luck.  I was introduced to no one, although lots of people stared at me, and whispered about me as I passed.”

“And you saw this paragon of Catherine’s?”

“Yes, I saw her.”

“What did you think of her, May?  I like to get your opinion, my love.  You have a good deal of penetration.  Tell me frankly what you thought of this low-born miss, whom Catherine degraded herself by talking to.”

Mabel looked at her sister.  Catherine’s eyes flashed.  Mabel replied demurely: 

“I thought Miss Meadowsweet quiet-looking and graceful.”

Catherine took Mabel’s hand unnoticed by their mother and squeezed it, and Mrs. Bertram, who was not wholly devoid of tact, thought it wisest to let the conversation drop.

The next day the Rector called, and Mrs. Bertram asked him, in an incidental way what kind of people the Meadowsweets were.

“Excellent people,” he replied, rubbing his hands softly together.  “Excellent, worthy, honorable.  I have few parishioners whom I think more highly of than Beatrice and her mother.”

Mrs. Bertram’s brow began to clear.

“A mother and daughter,” she remarked.  “Only a mother and a daughter, Mr. Ingram?”

“Only a mother and a daughter, my dear madam.  Poor Meadowsweet left us six years ago.  He was one of my churchwardens, a capital fellow, so thoroughgoing and reliable.  A sound churchman, too.  In short, everything that one could desire.  He died rather suddenly, and I was afraid Mrs. Meadowsweet would leave Northbury, but Bee did not wish it.  Bee has a will of her own, and I fancy she’s attached to us all.”

“I am very glad that you can give us such a pleasant account of these parishioners of yours, dear Mr. Ingram,” responded Mrs. Bertram.  “The fact is, I am in a difficult position here.  No, the girls won’t overhear us; they are busy at their embroidery in that distant corner.  Well, perhaps, to make sure.  Kate,” Mrs. Bertram raised her voice, “I know the Rector is going to give us the pleasure of his company to tea.  Mr. Ingram, I shall not allow you to say no.  Kate, will you and Mabel go into the garden, and bring in a leaf of fresh strawberries.  Now, Mr. Ingram I want you to see our strawberries, and to taste them.  The gardener tells us that the Manor strawberries are celebrated.  Run, dears, don’t be long.”