But the next day she was armed for the combat.  The little parlor-maid, in her neat black dress, clean muslin apron, large frilled, picturesque collar, and high mob-cap, was instructed to say “Not at home” to all comers.  She was a country girl, not from Northbury, but from some still more rusticated spot, and she thought she was telling a frightful lie, and blushed and trembled while she uttered it.  So apparent was her confusion that Miss Peters, when she and her sister, Mrs. Butler, appeared on the scene, rolled her eyes at the taller lady and asked her in a pronounced manner if it would not be well to drop a tract on the heinousness of lying in the avenue.

This speech was repeated by Clara to the cook, who told it again to the young ladies’ maid, who told it to the young ladies, who narrated it to their mother.

Mrs. Bertram smiled grimly.

“Don’t repeat gossip, my dears,” she said, Then after a pause she remarked aloud:  “The difficulty will be about returning the calls.”

Mabel, the youngest and most subservient of the girls, ventured to ask her mother what she intended to do, but Mrs. Bertram was too wise to disclose her plans, that is, if she had made any.

The Rector of Northbury was one of the first to visit the new inhabitants of the Manor.  To him Mrs. Bertram opened her doors gladly.  He was old, unmarried, and of good family.  She was glad there was at least one gentleman in the place with whom she might occasionally exchange a word.

About a fortnight after his visit the Rector inclosed some tickets for a bazaar to Mrs. Bertram.  The tickets were accompanied by a note, in which he said that it would gratify the good Northbury folk very much if Mrs. Bertram and the young ladies would honor the bazaar with their presence.

“Every soul in the place will be there,” said Mr. Ingram.  “This bazaar is a great event to us, and its object is, I think, a worthy one.  We badly want a new organ for our church.”

“Eureka!” exclaimed Mrs. Bertram when she had read this note.

“What is the matter, mother?” exclaimed Mabel.

“Only that I have found a way out of my grand difficulty,” responded their mother, tossing Mr. Ingram’s note and the tickets for the bazaar into Catherine’s lap.

“Are you so delighted to go to this country bazaar, mother?” asked the eldest daughter.

“Delighted!  No, it will be a bore.”

“Then why did you say Eureka! and look so pleased?”

“Because on that day I shall leave cards on the Northbury folk—­not one of them will be at home.”

“Shabby,” muttered Catherine.  Her dark cheek flushed, she turned away.

Mabel put out her little foot and pressed it against her sister’s.  The pressure signified warning.

“Then you are not going to the bazaar, mother?” she questioned.

“I don’t know.  I may drop in for a moment or two, quite at the close.  It would not do to offend Mr. Ingram.”