Mrs. Bertram

“ Not at homing when I called, and then leaving their cards on the day when I was at the bazaar. Highty-tighty, says I, who's Mrs. Bertram that she should look down on us in this fashion? Isn't the widow of a good honest butter merchant who paid his way, and left a comfortable fortune behind him, fit to associate with any lady of the land? Mrs. Bertram, indeed! A nice way she has treated us all. It isn't every newcomer we Northbury folks would take up. ”

“ Bertram with interest.
"How late these fashionable people are," quote Miss Peters. "It's absolutely five o'clock. My dear Martha, do sit down and rest yourself. You look fit to drop. I'll keep an eye on the door and tell you the very moment Mrs. Bertram comes in. Mrs. Gorman Stanley has promised to introduce us. Mrs. Gorman Stanley was fortunate enough to find Mrs. Bertram in. It was she who told us about the drawing-room at the Manor. Fancy! Mrs. Bertram has only a felt carpet on her drawing-room. Not even a red felt, which looks warm and wears. But a sickly green! ”

“ Porter had gone to her own room, Linda turned her attention to this box.
Taking off the string she lifted the cover, and straight up into her eyes looked Bertram King. The likeness was a striking one and color flowed over her face. As she gazed, the thought came to her that Bertram must have consummated a good business deal on the day he sat for this.
There was lurking humor in the eyes and lips. It was Bertram at his best: his most prosperous. A clean-cut face, she thought, as she looked, a well-born face: intelligent, full of character and confidence. ”

“ Bertram's disgust at the tyranny which has made his freedom the payment of another's debt, which has united him to a woman whose merits are not towards him—whose secret love, and long-enduring faith, are yet unknown and untried—might well make his bride distasteful to him. He flies her on the very day of their marriage, most like a wilful, haughty, angry boy, but not like a profligate. ”

“ Bertram took his bride away, and the town was very glad to think they might keep Beatrice Meadowsweet with them after all. Neither Mrs. Bertram nor Mrs. Meadowsweet were present at the wedding, but they met that evening, for Mrs. Meadowsweet drove up to the Manor; she was accompanied by Beatrice and they both asked to see Mrs. Bertram.
They were admitted into the great lady's bedroom.
"I am sorry you are so poorly, Mrs. Bertram," said Mrs. Meadowsweet. "I thought, as Bee was coming up, I'd call with her. ”

“ In peace and honour, good Sir Bertram," he whined. But Bertram made him no answer. Now Denis had rolled up to them, and Bertram, stooping an instant, sliced his bonds. "Shut the door, Denis; we would be alone," said Bertram.
Tottering, numb and stiff, Denis rose and stumbled to the door. The men swore at him, but durst no more, and the door was shut. "Irons, man, irons!" muttered Bertram; and Denis looked dazed an instant, then caught up two of the torture irons that were pointed, and drove them under the door, so that they held like wedges. ”

“ It was five years after that night in Eaton Square when George Bertram again asked her—her who had once been Caroline Waddington—to be his wife. But, sweet ladies, sweetest, fairest maidens, there were no soft, honey words of love then spoken; no happy, eager vows, which a novelist may repeat, hoping to move the soft sympathy of your bosoms. It was a cold, sad, dreary matter that offer of his; her melancholy, silent acquiescence, and that marriage in Hadley church, at which none were present but Adela and Arthur, and Miss Baker. ”

“ Ah, Sir Bertram, I am ashamed; but—but—truly 'twas overhard——" Bertram came and gripped Denis's hand.
"Denis, what man dare blame?" he said, "Not I, faith! nor any man that hath loved." Then he laughed. "Pardi, what hurt have I? And——" Some sound came from without—the dull tramp of feet, the clatter of steel. Bertram ran to the narrow slit that served for window. The crag was alive with men. ”

“ There is nothing, Miss Waddington, to equal the sweetness of a mother's kisses."
"I never knew them," said she. "But I have found an aunt's do nearly as well."
"A grandmother's are not bad," said Bertram, looking very grave.
"I can never think of my mother without emotion," continued Mr. M'Gabbery. "I remember, as though it were yesterday, when I first stood at her knee, with a picture-book on her lap before me. It is the furthest point to which memory carries me—and the sweetest."
"I can remember back much before that," said George; "a great deal before that. Listen to this, Miss Baker. ”

“ She sees the image of Sir Bertram's face!
"O Bertram! dear Sir Bertram! God be thanked,"
She cries, "that Bertram will be lord of me!"
And then she sees TWO faces in the well!
Her own, and his! An arm steals 'round her waist!
Startled, she turns, and swoons in Bertram's arms! ”

“ Even if we were not in trouble to-day, as we are, it would make no difference. I am sure Mr. Bertram is excellent and amiable, but I do not—I cannot—I hope Fitzwilliam will not be angry, but I dislike the idea so very much."
"If that is so, my dear Georgiana, you shall not be tormented about it any more. I do not know if I am glad or sorry, it has all happened so quickly, but it is right that you should judge for yourself. Mr. Bertram will be greatly disappointed, still, that cannot be helped. I suppose I am to be deputed to get rid of the poor man."
"If you would be so very kind, Elizabeth." ”

“ They now live together very quietly, very soberly, but yet happily. They have not Adela's blessings. No baby lies in Caroline's arms, no noisy boy climbs on the arm of George Bertram's chair. Their house is childless, and very, very quiet; but they are not unhappy.
Reader, can you call to mind what was the plan of life which Caroline Waddington had formed in the boldness of her young heart? Can you remember the aspirations of George Bertram, as he sat upon the Mount of Olives, watching the stones of the temple over against him? ”

“ And so he plays his part.——
When Mrs Bertram of Ellangowan was able to hear the news of what had passed during her confinement, her apartment rung with all manner of gossiping respecting the handsome young student from Oxford, who had told such a fortune by the stars to the young Laird, "blessings on his dainty face." The form, accent, and manners, of the stranger, were expatiated upon. His horse, bridle, saddle, and stirrups, did not remain unnoticed. All this made a great impression upon the mind of Mrs Bertram, for the good lady had no small store of superstition. ”

“ It wasn't good for Bertram. He's got the confounded temperament that goes with his talent, I suppose—though why a man can't paint a picture, or sing a song, and keep his temper and a level head I don't see!”
“He can,” cut in Arkwright, with curt emphasis.
“Humph! Well, that's what I think. But, about this marriage business. Bertram admires a pretty face wherever he sees it—to paint, and always has. ”

“ George Bertram found himself seated next to a lady-like well-dressed Englishwoman of the middle age, whom he heard called Miss Baker; and next to her again sat—an angel! whom Miss Baker called Caroline, and whom an odious man sitting on the other side of her called Miss Waddington.
All my readers will probably at different times have made part of a table-d'hôte assemblage; and most of them, especially those who have travelled with small parties, will know how essential it is to one's comfort to get near to pleasant neighbours. ”

“ There was no grief in the question, only a quiet respect. Death clothes the most volatile with a garment of awe. Bertram slowly shook his head. “No,” said he, “I came at once up stairs.”
“There is no mark on her white body, save the least little discolored dent here,” continued his uncle, pointing calmly to his temple. “She had one moment of fear while the horses ran, and then—” He gave a quick shudder and advancing towards Bertram, laid his hand on his nephew’s shoulder in such a way as to prevent him from turning his head. “Bertram,” said he, “I have no son. ”

“ For Wilkinson clearly conceived it to be impossible that Bertram should really intend to marry this widow.
"And why should I not marry her?" said George.
"She would not suit you, nor make you happy."
"What right have I to think that any woman will suit me? or what chance is there that any woman will make me happy? Is it not all leather and prunella? She is pretty and clever, soft and feminine. Where shall I find a nicer toy to play with? You forget, Arthur, that I have had my day-dreams, and been roused from them somewhat roughly. With you, the pleasure is still to come." ”

“ It certainly seems to me that with such a guarantee as that she needs be afraid of nothing. Whichever of you he selected, it would come to the same thing."
"Harcourt, if she would marry me to-morrow because by doing so she would make sure of my uncle's money, by heaven, I would not take her! If she will not take me for myself, and what I can do for her, she may let me alone." Thus majestically spoke Bertram, sitting with his friend on the side of a Scottish mountain, with a flask of brandy and a case of sandwiches between them. ”

“ At a word of command, the dogs settled down to watch wistfully for the end of their vigil, and Sir Bertram, admitted by an elderly and ungracious-looking domestic, entered the little hall, where he laid his hat and stick upon an oak chest, and afterwards passed into the long, low room, the door of which the maid had opened. A woman lying upon a couch held out both her hands; long, beautiful hands, ringless and almost transparently white. He raised them to his lips and drew a chair to her side. ”

“ No one could be more affectionate than aunt Mary, no one more trustworthy, no one more thoroughly devoted to another than she was to her niece. But then she was not only old, but old-fashioned. She was prudent, and Caroline also was prudent; but their prudence was a different kind. There was no dash, no ambition about aunt Mary's prudence. She was rather humdrum, Caroline thought; and, which was worse, though she liked George Bertram, she did not seem to understand his character at all in the same light as that in which Caroline regarded it. ”

“ Caroline had so spoken, spoken even to him, that it seemed impossible to him that she could wish for the marriage. Bertram had so written that it seemed equally impossible that he should wish for it. Would it not, therefore, be madness to allow them to marry? He had said as much to Miss Baker, and Miss Baker had agreed with him. "He cannot love her," Miss Baker had said, "or he would not neglect her so shamefully. I am sure he does not love her." ”

“ If you admire her so much, I shall beg you not to come to Littlebath any more."
"Perhaps I had better not. But, Bertram, I beg to congratulate you most heartily. There is this against your future happiness—"
"What?"
"Why, you will never be known as Mr. George Bertram; but always as Mrs. George Bertram's husband. With such a bride-elect as that, you cannot expect to stand on your own bottom. If you can count on being lord-chancellor, or secretary of state, you may do so; otherwise, you'll always be known as an appendage."
"Oh, I'll put up with that misery." ”

“ Though Bertram did not like the marriage forced on him by the king, it seems he was not insensible to love, for since he had been stationed with the army at Florence, he had fallen in love with Diana, a fair young gentlewoman, the daughter of this widow who was Helena's hostess ”

“ Between each prayer there rose another sound, the strangest, most terrible sound of a human kind that Bertram had ever heard beyond a battlefield. It was the wailing of women. It was like the cry of the Banshee, as he had imagined it with horror in childhood. It rose and fell in rhythmic anguish, from all those shawl-covered women, kneeling with bowed heads, or raising their heads and hands like a Greek chorus, to the heavens above. The search-light moved above them, touched their white hands, searched along the line of upturned faces, seemed to search their souls and reveal their passion. ”

“ William is—let me see—nearly forty-five, I guess, by this time; and he isn't a marrying man. He buried his heart with his wife and baby years ago. Cyril, according to Bertram, 'hates women and all other confusion,' so that ought to let him out. As for Bertram himself—Bertram is 'only Bertram.' He's always been that. Bertram loves girls—to paint; but I can't imagine him making serious love to any one. It would always be the tilt of a chin or the turn of a cheek that he was admiring—to paint. ”

“ In the last act Bertram is at his side again, trying to induce him to sign the fatal compact. The strains of sacred music which he hears, and the recollections of his mother, restrain him. In desperation Bertram announces himself as his fiend-father. He is about to yield, when Alice appears and reads to him his mother's warning against the fiend's temptation. As he still hesitates, the clock strikes, and the spell is over. Bertram disappears, and the scene changes to the cathedral, where Isabella in her wedding robes awaits the saved Robert. ”

“ Bertram coldly interposes.
“When you have done yelling, my good youth, will you listen to a word of common sense?”
[174] “Oh, Sam, are you mad?” cries Annie. “Kate never meant anything of the kind. You know Mr. Bertram has ever treated me as if I was a waxworks under a glass case.”
“Take off your hat, put down your whip, apologise to your sister, and listen to me,” says Bertram, with authority.
But the youth is in no mood to hear or to obey. He has taken a glass of gin with a fellow-cabby, and his blood is on fire. ”