Her
ladyship has a great notion that women should be independent."
"My father is perfectly able and perfectly willing to do everything that
is necessary for his children. No one would dream of meddling with us
who knew him," cried Bessie impetuously. Her voice shook, she was so
annoyed that she was in tears. Mr. Fairfax took her hand, squeezed it
tight, and retained it as they walked on. She felt insulted for her
dear, good, generous father. She was almost sobbing as she continued in
his praise: "He has insured his life for us. I have heard him say that
we need never want unless by our own fault. And the little money that
was left for me when my real father died has never been touched: it was
put into the funds to save up and be a nest-egg for me when I marry."
Mr. Wiley's teeth gleamed his appreciation of this _naive_ bit of
information. And even her grandfather could not forbear a smile, though
he was touched. "I am convinced that you have been in good hands,
Elizabeth," said he warmly. "It was not against Mr. Carnegie that any
neglect of natural duty was insinuated, but against me."
Bessie looked down and sighed. Mr. Wiley deprecated the charge of
casting blame anywhere. Mr. Fairfax brusquely turned the conversation to
matters not personal--to the forest-laws, the common-rights and
enclosure acts--and Bessie kept their pace, which quickened
imperceptibly, ruminating in silence her experiences of the day.
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