ne 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."

The girls stepped out through the open French window, interlaced their
arms round one another and disappeared.

"They are good girls," said the mother, "but Kate has a will of her own.
Mr. Ingram, you will allow me to take you into my confidence. I am often
puzzled to know how to act towards Catherine. She is a good girl, but I
can't lead her. She is only seventeen, only just seventeen. Surely that
is too young an age to walk quite without leading strings."

Mr. Ingram was an old bachelor, but he was one of those mellow, gentle,
affectionate men who make the most delightful companions, whose sympathy
is always ready, and tact always to the fore. Mr. Ingram was full of
both sympathy and tact, but he had also a little gentle vanity to be
tickled, and when a handsome woman, still young, appealed to him with
pathos in her eyes and voice, he laid himself, metaphorically, at her
feet.

"My dear madam," he responded, "it is most gratifying to me to feel that
I can be of the least use to you. Command me at all times, I beg. As to
Miss Catherine, who can guide her better than her excellent mother? I
don't know much about you, Mrs. Bertram, but I feel--forgive me, I am a
man of intuition--I feel that you are one to look up to. Miss Catherine
is a fortunate girl. You are right. She is far too young to walk alone.
Seventeen, did you say--pooh--a mere child, a baby. An immature
creature, ignorant, innocent, fresh, but undeveloped; just the age, Mrs.
Bertram, when she needs the aid and counsel of a mother like you."

Mrs. Bertram's dark e