“Mrs. Bertram is not coming, mother, but you must put on your best cap all the same.  Mrs. Bertram is from home.  It was the girls I met this morning—­the girls, and their brother, Captain Bertram.”

“Oh, well, child, if they are all young folk the cap with Maltese lace will do.  I don’t wear Honiton, except for those who know.”

“Mother, I thought we might have supper in the garden.  The weather is so lovely now, and it is quite light at half-past eight.  Shall I give the order, and take all the trouble off you?”

Mrs. Meadowsweet rose with a slight effort to her feet.

“Do you think I am going to let you be worried, child?” she said.  “No, no, what good is the old mother if she can’t manage a thing of that sort?  Of course you shall have supper in the garden, and a good supper, too.  I am glad you have asked your friends, Bee.  How well and bright you look.  I am very glad you have made nice friends at last, child.”

“All my friends are nice, mother, at least I think so.  By the way, I met the little Bells, and they were dying to come, so I asked them, and they said perhaps they would bring the Jenkinses, and Mr. Jones, and of course, the boys will drop in.”

“My word, child, but that’s quite a party!  I had better send out at once for a salmon, and two or three lobsters and some crabs.  There’s cream enough in the house, and eggs, and plenty of stuff in the garden for salads.  Oh, I’ll manage, I’ll manage fine.  I got in a couple of chickens and a pair of ducks this morning; I’ll warrant that your grand friends have enough to eat, Trixie.  But now I must go and have a talk with Jane.”

CHAPTER VIII.

NOBODY ELSE LOOKED THE LEAST LIKE THE BERTRAMS.

It was the fashion to be punctual at Northbury, and when Catherine, Mabel and Loftus Bertram arrived about ten minutes past seven at the Gray House they found the pleasant old drawing-room already full of eager and expectant guests.

Beatrice would have preferred meeting her new friends without any ceremony in the garden, but Mrs. Meadowsweet was nothing if she was not mistress of her own house, and she decided that it would be more becoming and comme il faut to wait in the drawing-room for the young visitors.

Accordingly Mrs. Meadowsweet sat in her chair of state.  She wore a rose-colored silk dress, and a quantity of puffed white lace round her neck and wrists; and a cap which was tall and stiff, and had little tufts of yellow ribbon and little rosettes of Maltese lace adorning it, surmounted her large, full-blown face.  That face was all beams and kindliness and good-temper, and had somehow the effect of making people forget whether Mrs. Meadowsweet was vulgar or not.