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 standing 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 one 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 eyes glowed with pleasure.
"I am glad you agree with me," she said. "The fact is, Mr. Ingram, we
have come to the Manor to retrench a little, to economize, to live in
retirement. By-and-bye, I shall take Catherine and Mabel to London. As a
mother, I have duties to perform to them. These, when the time comes,
shall not be neglected. Mr. Ingram, I must be very frank, I _don't_
want to know the good folk of Northbury."
Mr. Ingram started at this very plain speaking. He had lived for thirty
years with the Northbury people. They had not vulgarized him; their
troubles and their pleasures alike were his. His heart and soul, his
life and strength were given up to them. He did not feel himself any the
less a gentleman because those whom he served were, many of them, lowly
born. He started, therefore, both inwardly and outwardly at Mrs.
Bertram's plain speech, and instantly, for he was a man of very nice
penetration, saw that the arrival of this lady, this brilliant sun of
society, in the little world of Northbury, would not add to the
smoothness of his lot.
Before he could get in a word, however, Mrs. Bertram quickly continued:
"And Catherine is determined to make a friend of Beatrice Meadowsweet."
"She is quite right, Mrs. Bertram. I introduced Miss Catherine to
Beatrice yesterday. They will make delightful companions; they are about
the same age--I can vouch for the life and spirit possessed by my friend
Bee, and if I mistake not Miss Catherine will be her worthy companion."
Mrs. Bertram laughed.
"I wish I could tell you what an imp of mischief Kate is," she said.
"She is the most daring creature that ever drew the breath of life. Dear
Mr. Ingram, forgive me for even doubting you for a moment. I might have
known that you would only introduce my daughter to a lady."
The Rector drew himself up a very little.
"Certainly, Beatrice Meadowsweet is a lady," he replied. "If a noble
heart, and frank and fearless ways, and an educated mind, and a refined
nature can make a lady, then she is one--no better in the land."
"I am charmed, _charmed_ to hear it. It is such a relief. For,
really Mr. Ingram, some people from Northbury came and sat on that very
sofa which you are occupying, who were quite too--oh, well, they were
absolutely dreadful. I wonder if Mrs. Meadowsweet has called. I don't
remember the name, but I suppose she has. I must look amongst the cards
which have absolutely been showered on us and see. I must certainly
return her visit and at once. Poor Mr. Meadowsweet--he was in the army
perhaps! I am quite glad to know there are people of our position here.
Did you say the army? Or perhaps a retired gentleman,--ah, I see
Catherine and Mabel coming back. Which was Mr. Meadowsweet's regiment?"
Poor Mr. Ingram's face grew absolutely pink.
"At some time in his life poor Meadowsweet may have served in the local
volunteers," he replied. "He was however, a--ah, Miss Catherine, what
tempting strawberries!"
The rector approached the open French window. Mrs. Bertram followed him
quickly.
"A--what?" she repeated. "The girls needn't know whom we are talking
about. A gentleman who lived on his private means?"
"A gentleman, madam, yes, a _gentleman_,--and he lived on his
means,--and he was wealthy. He kept a shop, a draper's shop, in the High
Street. Now, young ladies, young ladies--I call this wrong. _Such_
strawberries! Strawberries are my special weakness. Oh, it is cruel of
you to tempt me. I ought to be two miles from here now."
"You ought not," said Catherine in a gay voice. "You must sit with us on
the lawn, and drink our tea, and eat our strawberries."
Catherine had given a quick, lightning glance at her mother's face.
She saw a cloud there, she guessed the cause. She felt certain that her
mother would consult Mr. Ingram on the subject of Beatrice. Mr. Ingram's
report was not satisfactory. Delightful! She felt the imp of mischief
taking possession of her. She was a girl of many moods and tenses.
At times she could even be sombre. But when she chose to be gay and
fascinating she was irresistible. She was only seventeen, and in several
ways she was unconventional, even unworldly. In others, however, she was
a perfect woman of the world, and a match for her mother.