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Updated: June 17, 2025
Bertram did not care in the least what anybody thought of her. She was in no sense of the word a sham. She was well-born, well-educated, respectably married, and fairly well-off. The people in Northbury considered her rich. She always spoke of herself as poor. In reality she was neither rich nor poor.
In others, however, she was a perfect woman of the world, and a match for her mother. Northbury was so completely out of the world that it only had a postal delivery twice a day. The early post was delivered at eight o'clock, so that the good people of the place could discuss their little items of outside news over their breakfast-tables. The postman went round with his evening delivery at seven.
His beginning is sometimes as small as a particle of sand; the first dawning of his existence as impalpable as the air. From these small beginnings, however, rumor arises, strong as a giant, cruel as death. Perhaps no foe has more injured mankind than idle rumor. He was abroad now in the little town of Northbury, and no one quite knew the exact place of his birth.
Little chance had the poor lady of effecting other introductions; she realized for the first time that she was only a quarter introduced to the great woman herself. The fact was this: There was not a soul in Northbury, at least there was not an acknowledged soul who could combat Mrs. Bertram's will. She had made up her mind to talk to no one but Mr. Ingram at the bazaar.
Near the entrance of the refectory, which occupies the whole south side of the quadrangle, stand a band of halberdiers, whose torches cast a ruddy glare on the opposite tower and buttresses of the convent church, revealing the statues not yet plucked from their niches, the crosses on the pinnacles, and the gilt image of Saint Gregory de Northbury, still holding its place over the porch.
Bertram has forbidden them to receive me again. I don't know where to go, as I am not acquainted with Northbury, but I can pay for good rooms. Can you recommend any?" "My dear child, now let me think. The place is packed just at present simply packed. Dear, dear! I have heard of you, Miss Hart. And so Mrs. Bertram doesn't like you?" "No, she hates me." "Well, I'm sure.
Please, driver, take Captain Bertram's things up to the house. He heard you speak, Loftie. These Northbury people are as touchy as if they were somebodies. Oh, Loftus, you will be disappointed. Mother has gone to Manchester." "To Manchester?" retorted Loftus. "My mother away from home! Did she know that I was coming?" "Yes," answered Kate, "I told her about your letter last night."
"Wild or not it is true," replied Mabel. "Mother has cut the Northbury people, cut them dead. They came to see us, they came in troops. Such funny folk! The first lot were let in. Mother was like a poker. She astonished her visitors, and the whole scene was so queer and uncomfortable, although mother was freezingly polite, that Kate and I got out of the room.
Here he touched his little pony's head with the whip, and, before Mrs. Jenkins could utter a word of either astonishment or interest, had turned the corner and was out of sight. The fashionable disease of nerves had not yet become an epidemic at Northbury, and Dr. Morris was a little puzzled at the symptoms which his great patient exhibited. He was proud to speak of Mrs.
Catherine and Mabel were both waiting for him under the shade of the great oak tree which commanded a view of the gate. His train was due at Northbury at seven o'clock. He was to come by express from London, and the girls concluded that the express would not be more than five minutes late.
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