Both were in white, and
both wore large drooping hats. These hats cast picturesque shadows on
their young faces.
Mrs. Bertram looked at them with a queer half-jealous pang. Beatrice was
the child of a lowly tradesman, Catherine the daughter of a man of
family and some pretension; and yet Mrs. Bertram had to own that in any
society this tall, upright, frank, young Beatrice could hold her own,
that even Catherine whose dark face was patrician, who bore the
refinement of race in every point, could scarcely outshine this country
girl.
"It is marvellous," said Mrs. Bertram after a pause; "Beatrice is one of
nature's ladies. There are a few such, they come now and then, and no
circumstances can spoil them. To think of that girl's mother!"
"One of the dearest old ladies of my acquaintance," replied Mr. Ingram.
"Beatrice owes a great deal of her nobleness of heart and singleness of
purpose to her mother. Mrs. Bertram, I have never heard that woman say
an unkind word. I have heard calumny of her, but never from her. Then,
of course, Meadowsweet was quite a gentleman."
"My dear friend! A draper a gentleman?"
"I grant the anomaly is not common," said the Rector. "But in
Meadowsweet's case I make a correct statement. He was a perfect
gentleman after the type of some of those who are mentioned in the
Sacred Writings.
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