Mr. Carnegie had prophesied wisely
when he said for his wife's consolation that character tells more in the
long-run than talking French or playing on the piano. Her companions
might like Bessie Fairfax, or they might let liking alone, but very few
would venture a second time on ill-natured demonstrations either towards
herself or towards any one she protected.
Bessie's position in the community was established when the tug of work
began. Her health and complexion triumphed over the coarse, hard fare;
her habits of industry made application easy; but the dulness and
monotony were sickening to her, the routine and confinement were hateful
yoke and bondage. Saving one march on Sunday to the Temple under Miss
Foster's escort, she went nowhere beyond the garden for weeks together.
Both French and English girls were in the same case, unless some friend
residing in the town or visiting it obtained leave to take them out. And
nobody came for Bessie. That she should go home to Beechhurst for a
Christmas holiday she had taken for granted; and while abiding the
narrow discipline, and toiling at her unaccustomed tasks with
conscientious diligence, that flattering anticipation made sunshine in
the distance. Every falling leaf, every chill breath of advancing
winter, brought it nearer. Janey and she used to talk of it half their
recreation-time--by the stagnant, weedy fountain in the garden at noon,
and in the twilight windows of the _classe_, when thoughts of the absent
are sweetest.
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