y should not. Therefore the
Rector's dreams came apparently to nothing.

CHAPTER III.

A GENTLEMAN, MADAM.

Only apparently. Every one knows how small the little rift within the
lute is. So are most beginnings.

Mrs. Bertram felt, that in her way, she had effected quite a victory.
She stepped into her brougham to return to Rosendale Manor with a
pleasing sense of triumph.

"I am thankful to say that ordeal is over," she remarked. "And I think,"
she continued, with a smile, "that when the Northbury people see my
cards, awaiting them on their humble hall-tables, they will have learnt
their lesson."

Neither of the girls made any response to this speech. Mabel was leaning
back in the carriage looking bored and cross, but Catherine's expression
was unusually bright.

"Mother," she exclaimed suddenly, "I met such a nice girl at the
bazaar."

"You made an acquaintance at the bazaar, my dear Catherine," answered
Mrs. Bertram with alacrity. "You made an acquaintance? The acquaintance
of a girl? Who?"

"Her name is Beatrice Meadowsweet. She is a dear, delightful, fresh
girl, and exactly my own age."

Catherine's dark face was all aglow. Her handsome brown eyes shone with
interest and pleasure.

"Catherine, how often, how very often have I told you that expressions
of rapture such as you have just given way to are underbred."

"Why are they underbred, mother?" Catherine's tone was aggressive, and
Mabel again kicked her sister's foot.

The kick was returned with vigor, and Catherine said in an earnest
though deliberate voice:

"Why are expressions of rapture underbred? Can enthusiasm, that fire of
the gods, be vulgar?"

"Kate, you are cavilling. Expressions of rapture generally show a lack
of breeding because as a rule they are exaggerated, therefore untrue. In
this case they are manifestly untrue, for how is it possible for you to
tell that the girl you have just been speaking to is dear, delightful,
and fresh?"

"Her face is fresh, her manners are fresh, her expression is delightful.
There is no use, mother, you can't crush me. I am in love with Beatrice
Meadowsweet."

Mrs. Bertram's brow became clouded. It was one of the bitter defeats
which she had ever and anon to acknowledge to herself that, in the midst
of her otherwise victorious career, she could never get the better of
her eldest daughter Catherine.

"Who introduced you to this girl?" she asked, after a pause.

"The Rector. He saw me s