"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