"
"You ride, Elizabeth? That is a good hearing," said Mr. Fairfax. "You
shall have a Miss Hoyden at Abbotsmead."
Bessie colored and turned her head for a moment, but said nothing.
Margaret whispered that _would_ be nice. Poor Bessie's romance was now
known to the young ladies of the neighborhood, and she was more
interesting to them than she knew.
Lady Latimer led the way with Mr. Fairfax up the drive overhung with
flowering trees and bushes. On the steps before the open hall-door stood
Mr. Wiley, whom my lady had bidden to call and stay to luncheon when his
pastoral visits brought him into the vicinity of Fairfield. He caught
sight of his young neighbor, Bessie Fairfax, and on the instant, with
that delicious absence of tact which characterized him, he asked
brusquely, "How came _you_ here?" Bessie blushed furiously, and no one
answered--no one seemed to hear but herself; so Mr. Wiley added
confidentially, "It is promotion indeed to come to Fairfield. Keep
humble, Bessie."
"Wait for me, Miss Fairfax," said Margaret as she dismounted. "Come to
my room." And Bessie went without a word, though her lips were laughing.
She was laughing at herself, at her incongruousness, at her trivial
mortifications. Margaret would set her at her ease, and Bessie learnt
that she had a rare charm in her hair, both from its color and the
manner of its growth. It was lovely, Margaret told her, and pressed its
crisp shining abundance with her hand delicately.
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