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?"