"I have got to think about something," replied Beatrice. "And I am just a very little upset. I am going into the garden with a book, and you won't mind if I don't talk to you, mother dear?"
"Of course not, my pet. What is an old mother good for, but to humor her child? Go you into the garden, Trixie, and no one shall fret or molest you, I'll see to that."
Beatrice kissed her mother, and book in hand went to the rose-bower, a secluded spot where no one could see her or take her unawares. Mrs. Meadowsweet sat upright in her chair, took out her knitting-bag, and proceeded to add a few stitches to Beatrice's quilt.
Presently there came a quick and somewhat nervous ring to the door-bell. Mrs. Meadowsweet often said that there were rings and rings. This ring made her give a little start, and took away the sleepiness which was stealing over her.
The next moment Catherine Bertram entered the room. Her eyes were glowing, and her face, usually rather pale, was effused with a fine color. She looked eager and expectant.
Mrs. Meadowsweet stretched out her two hands to her, and gave her a few warm words of welcome. The impulsive girl stooped down, and kissed the old lady on the forehead.
"You're just the person I'm glad to see, my dear," said Mrs. Meadowsweet. "You'll take your mother back her pills. Poor dear, she must have thought I had forgotten all about her."
"I have come to see Beatrice," said Catherine. "It is important. Can I see her?"
"Well, my love, Bee is not quite herself. She is worried about something; I don't know what for it's my aim in life to make her lot smooth as velvet. She's in the garden with a book, and I said she shouldn't be disturbed. But you, my dear——"
"I must see Beatrice," repeated Catherine. "It's important. I've come here on purpose."