Musgrave came gliding
over the grass, and her clear caressing voice broke on their ears:
"Children, children, are you never coming to tea? We have called you
from the window twice. And young Christie is here."
* * * * *
Young Christie came forward with a bow and a blush to shake hands. He
had dressed himself for Sunday to come to Brook. He had an ingenuous
face, but plain in feature. The perceptive faculties were heavily
developed, and his eyes were fine; and his mouth and chin suggested a
firmness of character.
Mr. Musgrave, who was absent at dinner, was now come home tired from
Hampton. He leant back in his chair and held out a brown hand to Bessie,
who took it, and a kiss with it, as part of the regular ceremony of
greeting. She slipped into the chair set for her beside him, and was
quite at home, for Bessie was a favorite in the same degree at Brook as
Harry was at Beechhurst. Young Christie sat next to his friend and
opposite to Bessie. They had many things to say to each other, and
Bessie compared them in her own mind silently. Harry was serene and
quiet; Christie's color came and went with the animation of his talk.
Harry's hands had the sunburnt hue of going ungloved, but they were the
hands of a young man devoted to scholarly pursuits; Christie's were
stained with his trade, which he practised of necessity still, wooing
art only in his bye-hours.
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