Betts, calm and peremptory, proceeded to array her young lady
in her prize-day muslin dress, and sent her hastily down stairs under
the guidance of a little page who loitered in the gallery. At the foot
of the stairs a lean, gray-headed man in black received her, and ushered
her into a beautiful octagon-shaped room, all garnished with books and
brilliant with light, where her grandfather was waiting to conduct her
to dinner. So much ceremony made Bessie feel as if she was acting a part
in a play. Since Macky's kind greeting her spirits had risen, and her
countenance had cleared marvellously.
Mr. Fairfax was standing opposite the door when she appeared. "Good God!
it is Dolly!" he exclaimed, visibly startled. Dolly was his sister
Dorothy, long since dead. Not only in face and figure, but in a certain
lightness of movement and a buoyant swift way of stepping towards him,
Elizabeth recalled her. Perhaps there was something in the simplicity of
her dress too: there on the wall was a pretty miniature of her
great-aunt in blue and white and golden flowing hair to witness the
resemblance. Mr. Fairfax pointed it out to his granddaughter, and then
they went to dinner.
It was a very formal ceremonial, and rather tedious to the
newly-emancipated school-girl. Jonquil served his master when he was
alone, but this evening he was reinforced by a footman in blue and
silver, by way of honor to the young lady.
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