will fit. If she grows up cozy and soft and petting and small, why she's
Bee, and if she's sharp and saucy, and a bit too independent, as many
lasses are in these days, what can suit her better than Trixie? And
again if she's inclined to be stately, and to hold herself erect, and to
think a little more of herself than her mother ever did--only not more
than she deserves--bless her--why then she's Beatrice in full. Oh! and
there you are, Beatrice! Mrs. Bertram has been good enough to call to
see me. Mrs. Bertram, this is my daughter Beatrice."

A very tall girl came quietly into the room, bowed an acknowledgment of
her mother's introduction, and sat down on the edge of the sofa. She was
a dignified girl from the crown of her head to her finger-tips, and Mrs.
Bertram, who had been listening languidly to the mother, favored the
newcomer with a bright, quick, inquisitive stare, then rose to her
feet.

"I am afraid I must say good-bye, Mrs. Meadowsweet. I am glad to have
made your daughter's acquaintance, and another day I hope I shall see
more of her. I have of course heard of you from Catherine, my dear," she
added, holding out her hand frankly to the young girl.

"Yes. Is Catherine well?" asked Beatrice, in a sweet high-bred voice.

"She is well, my dear. Good-bye, Mrs. Meadowsweet. I quite understand
the all-roundness and suitability of your choice in the matter of
names."

Then the great lady sailed out of the room, and Beatrice flew to the
window, placed herself behind the curtain and watched her down the
street.