“She is an impostor,” she said then, in a slow, emphatic voice.

“Mother,” said her daughter, suddenly.  “You look very ill.”

“I have gone through a bad time, Kate.  I have been worried.  My dear child, be thankful you are not a middle-aged woman with many cares.”

“The thing I should be most thankful for at this moment, mother, would be to share in all your worries.”

“God forbid, child.  Heaven forbid that such a lot should be yours.  Now, my dear, we will keep our secret.  It is only yours and mine.  And—­come here—­kiss me—­you have acted well, my darling.”

The rare caress, the unwonted word of love, went straight to Catherine Bertram’s deep heart.  She put her firm young arm round her mother’s neck, and something like a vow and a prayer went up to God from her fervent soul.

“Come out,” said Mrs. Bertram.  “The others will wonder what we are doing.  Look as usual, Kitty, and fear nothing.  I have been in peril, but for the present it is over.”

When Mrs. Bertram appeared Loftus went up to her at once.  She took his arm, and they paced slowly under the trees.  If Mrs. Bertram loved her daughters, and there is no doubt she had a very real regard for them, Loftus Bertram was as the apple of her eye.  She adored this young man, she was blind to his faults, and she saw his virtues through magnifying glasses.

Loftus could always talk his mother into the best of humors.  He was not devoid of tact, and he knew exactly how to manage her, so as to bring her round to his wishes.  Having two ends in view to-night he was more than usually fascinating.  He wanted money to relieve a pressing embarrassment, and he also wished to cultivate his acquaintance with Beatrice Meadowsweet.  He was not absolutely in love with Beatrice, but her cool indifference to all his fascinations piqued him.  He thought it would be pleasant to see more of her, delightful to make a conquest of her.  He was not the sort of man to thwart his own inclinations.  Beatrice had contrived to make Northbury interesting to him, and he thought he could easily manage to get leave to visit it soon again.

That evening, therefore, Mrs. Bertram not only found herself arranging to put her hand to a bill, payable at the end of six months, for her son’s benefit, but further, quite complacently agreeing to call the very next day on Mrs. Meadowsweet, the wife of the ex-shopkeeper.

Hence that visit which had aroused the jealous feelings not only of Mrs. Morris, of Mrs, Butler and Miss Peters, but more or less of the whole society of Northbury.

CHAPTER XI.

SOMEBODY ADMIRED SOMEBODY.

“Then, if that’s the case,” said Mrs. Bell, “if that’s really and truly the case, and no mistake about it, Matty must have some new frocks made up for her at once.  I have no idea of a child of mine looking shabby or behind any one else, but you must tell me truly, Alice, if he really was attentive.  Bless you, child, you know what I mean.  Was there any hand-squeezing, and was he always and forever making an excuse to have a look at her.  No one could have been more genteel than your father during courtship, but the way his eyes did follow me wherever I turned, over and over put me to the blush.”