tanding by one of the stalls, looking what I
felt--awfully bored. He came up in his kind way and took my hand, and
said: 'My dear, you don't know any one, I am afraid. You would like to
make some acquaintances, would you not?' I replied: 'I am most anxious
to know some of the nice people all around me.'"

"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 o