nt for a few moments; then, suppressing a sigh, she
said, in a would-be cheerful tone:

"Well, my loves, we must enjoy our breakfasts, even without the recreant
Loftus. Mabel, my dear, what delicious raspberries! They give me quite
an appetite."

"Kitty picked them for you, mother," said Mabel. "She has been
treasuring a special bush for you for a week past."

Mrs. Bertram looked up at her eldest daughter and smiled at her. That
smile, very much treasured by Kate, was after all but a poor attempt,
gone as soon as it came. Mrs. Bertram leant back in her chair and toyed
with the dainty fruit. Her appetite was little more than a mockery.

"It was very thoughtful of Loftus not to waken any one up to give him
breakfast," said Catherine.

Her mother again glanced at her with a shadow of approval on her worn
face. Artful Kitty had made this speech on purpose; she knew that any
praise of Loftus was balm to her mother.

After breakfast Mrs. Bertram showed rather unwonted interest in her
daughters' plans.

"It is such a lovely day I should like you to go on the water," she
said. "At the same time, I must not think of hiring a boat this summer."

"Are we so frightfully poor, mother?" asked Mab.

Mrs. Bertram's brow contracted as if in pain, but she answered with
unwonted calm and gentleness:

"I have a fixed income, my dear Mabel, but, as you know, we have come to
Northbury to retrench."

She was silent again for a minute. Then she said:

"I see nothing for it but to cultivate the Meadowsweets."

"Mother!" said Catherine. The old fire and anger had come into her
voice. Unusual as it may be with any girl brought up in such a worldly
manner, Catherine hated to take advantage of people.

"You mistake me, Kate," said her mother, shrinking back from her
daughter's eyes, as if she had received a blow. "I want you to have the
pleasure of Beatrice Meadowsweet's friendship."

"Oh, yes," replied Catherine, relieved.

"And," continued the mother, her voice growing firm and her dark eyes
meeting her daughter's fully, "I don't mean to be out in the cold, so I
shall make a friend of Mrs. Meadowsweet."

Mabel burst into a merry girlish laugh. Catherine walked across the
grass to pick a rose. Mrs. Bertram took the rose from her daughter's
hand, although she knew and Catherine knew that it was never intended
for her. She smelt the fragrant, half-open bud, then placed it in her
dress, with a simple, "Thank you, my dear."

"I