Bessie had carried home a report of what
Lady Latimer had said; but neither her father nor mother admired the
suggestion, and it had not been mentioned again. Now, however, being
comfortably seated, my lady revived it in a serious, methodical way,
Bessie standing before her listening and blushing with a confusion that
increased every moment. She was thinking of the letter from Norminster,
but she did not venture yet to arrest Lady Latimer's flow of advice. My
lady did not discern that anything was amiss. She was accustomed to have
her counsels heard with deference. From advice she passed into
exhortation, assuming that Bessie was, of course, destined to some sort
of work for a living--to dressmaking, teaching or service in some
shape--and encouraging her to make advances for her future, that it
might not overtake her unprepared. Lady Latimer had not come into the
Forest until some years after the Reverend Geoffry Fairfax's death, and
she had no knowledge of Bessie's birth, parentage and connections; but
she had a principle against poor women pining in the shadow of gentility
when they could help themselves by honest endeavors; and also, she had a
plan for raising the quality of National School teaching by introducing
into the ranks of the teachers young gentlewomen unprovided by fortune.
She advised no more than she would have done, and all she said was good,
if Bessie's circumstances had been what she assumed.
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