It was from Mr. John Short, on the business that we wot of. To Mr.
Carnegie it read like a cool intimation that Bessie Fairfax was
wanted--was become of importance at Abbotsmead, and must break with her
present associations. It would have been impossible to convey in
palatable words the requisition that the lawyer was put upon making; but
to Mrs. Carnegie the demand did not sound harsh, nor the manner of it
insolent. She had always kept her mind in a state of preparedness for
some such change, and the only sense of annoyance that smote her was for
her own shortcomings--for how she had suffered Bessie to be almost a
servant to her own children, and how she could neither speak French nor
play on the piano.
The doctor pooh-poohed her remorse. "You have done the best for her you
could, Jane. What right has her grandfather to expect anything? He left
her on your hands without a penny."
"Bessie has been worth more than she costs, if that were the way to look
at it. But she will have to leave us now; she will have to go."
"Yes, she will have to go. But the old gentleman shall never deny our
share in her."
"The future will rest with Bessie herself."
"And she has a good heart and a will of her own. She will be a woman
with brains, whether she can play on the piano or not. Don't fret
yourself, Jane, for any fancied neglect of Bessie."
"I am sadly grieved for her, Thomas; she will be sent to school, and
what a life she will lead, dear child, so backward in her learning!"
"Nonsense! She is a bit of very good company.
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