Mr.
Frederick Fairfax was the most taciturn of men, and Mr. Cecil Burleigh
was constantly busy with pens, ink, and paper. In the long course of the
day he did take shreds of leisure, but they were mostly devoted to
cigars and meditation. Bessie observed that he was older and graver
since that gay wedding at Fairfield--which of course he had a right to
be, for it was three years ago--but he was still and always a very
handsome and distinguished personage.
In the _salon_ of Canon Fournier at Bayeux, Bessie Fairfax had
disconcerted this fine gentleman, but now the tables were turned, and on
board the yacht he often disconcerted her--not of _malice prepense_, but
for want of due consideration. No doubt she was a little unformed,
ignorant girl, but her intuitive perceptions were quick, and she knew
when she was depreciated and misunderstood. On a certain afternoon he
read her some beautiful poetry under the awning, and was interested to
know whether she had any taste for poetry. Bessie confessed that at
school she had read only Racine, and felt shy of saying what she used to
read at home, and he dropped the conversation. He drew the conclusion
that she did not care for literature. At their first meeting it had
seemed as if they might become cordial friends, but she soon grew
diffident of this much-employed stranger, who always had the ill-luck to
discover to her some deficiency in her education.
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