The Honorable Miss | Page 4

the top of her cup of tea in a decidedly
fight-me-if-you-dare manner.
"Nobody said she shouldn't call," answered Mrs. Butler. "Maria, you'll
oblige me by going into the hall and fetching my wrap. There's rather a

chill from this window--and the weather is very inclement for the time
of year. No, thank you, Mrs. Morris, I wouldn't take your seat for the
world. As you justly remark, why shouldn't Mrs Bertram call on our
good friend here? And, for that matter, why shouldn't she cross the road,
and leave her card on _you_, Mrs. Morris?"
Mrs. Morris was here taken with such a fit of bronchial coughing and
choking that she could make no response. Miss Peters rolled her eyes at
her sister in a manner which plainly said, "You had her there, Martha,"
and poor Mrs. Meadowsweet began nervously to wish that she had not
been the honored recipient of Mrs. Bertram's favors.
"She came to see me on account of Beatrice," remarked the hostess. "At
least I think that was why she came. I beg your pardon, did you say
anything, ladies?"
"Oh! fie, fie! Mrs. Meadowsweet," said Miss Peters, "you are too
modest. In my sister's name and my own, I say you are too modest."
"And in my name too," interrupted Mrs. Morris. "You are too humble,
my dear friend. She called to see you for your own dear sake and for no
other."
"And now let us all be friendly," continued Miss Peters, "and learn the
news. I think we are all of one mind in wishing to learn the news."
Mrs. Meadowsweet smoothed down the front of her black satin dress.
She knew, and her friends knew, that she would have much preferred
the honor of Mrs. Bertram's call to be due to Beatrice's charms than her
own. She smiled, however, with her usual gentleness, and plunged into
the conversation which the three other ladies were so eager to
commence.
Before they departed they had literally taken Mrs. Bertram to pieces.
They had fallen upon her tooth and nail, and dissected her morally, and
socially, and with the closest scrutiny of all, from a religious point of
view.
Mrs. Meadowsweet, who never spoke against any one, was amazed at
the ingenuity with which the character of her friend (she felt she must
call Mrs. Bertram her friend) was blackened. Before the ladies left Mrs.
Meadowsweet's house they had proved, in the ablest and most thorough
manner, that Mrs. Bertram was worldly and vain, that she lived beyond
her means, that she trained her daughters to think of themselves far
more highly than they ought to think, that in all probability she was not

what she pretended to be, and, finally, that poor Mrs. Meadowsweet,
dear Mrs. Meadowsweet, was in great danger on account of her
friendship.
"I don't agree with you, ladies," said the good woman, as they were
leaving the house, but they neither heeded nor heard her remark.
The explanation of their conduct was simple enough. They were
devoured with jealousy. Had Mrs. Bertram called on any one of them,
she would have been in that person's estimation the most fascinating
woman in Northbury.

CHAPTER II
.
MRS. BERTRAM'S WILL.
And Mrs. Bertram did not care in the least what anybody thought of her.
She was in no sense of the word a sham. She was well-born,
well-educated, respectably married, and fairly well-off. The people in
Northbury considered her rich. She always spoke of herself as poor. In
reality she was neither rich nor poor. She had an income of something
like twelve hundred a year, and on that she lived comfortably, educated
her children well, and certainly managed to present a nice appearance
wherever she went.
There never was a woman more full of common sense than Mrs.
Bertram. She had quite an appalling amount of this virtue; no one ever
heard her say a silly thing; each step she took in life was a wise one,
carefully considered, carefully planned out. She had been a widow now
for sis years. Her husband had nearly come into the family estate, but
not quite. He was the second son, and his eldest brother had died when
his heir was a month old. This heir had cut out Mrs. Bertram's husband
from the family place, with its riches and honors. He himself had died
soon after, and had left his widow with three children and twelve
hundred a year.
The children were a son and two daughters. The son's name was Loftus,
the girls were called Catherine and Mabel. Loftus was handsome in
person, and very every-day in mind. He was good-natured, but not
remarkable for any peculiar strength of character. His mother had
managed to send him to Rugby and Sandhurst, and he