It
was all in cool shade, redolent of fresh air and the perfume of flowers.
Jonquil waited to usher them to breakfast, which was laid in the room
where they had dined last night.
Mr. Fairfax was never a talker, but he made an effort on behalf of
Bessie, with whom it was apparently good manners not to speak until she
was spoken to. "What will you do, Elizabeth, by way of making
acquaintance with your home? Will you have Macky with her legends of
family history and go over the house, or will you take a turn outside
with me and visit the stables?"
Bessie knew which it was her duty to prefer, and fortunately her duty
tallied with her inclination; her countenance beamed, and she said, "I
will go out with you, if you please."
"You ride, I know. There is a nice little filly breaking in for you: you
must name her, as she is to be yours."
"May I call her Janey?"
"Janey! Was that the name of Mr. Carnegie's little mare?"
"No; she was Miss Hoyden. Janey was the name of my first friend at
school. She went away soon, and I have never heard of her since. But I
shall: I often think of her."
"You have a constant memory, Elizabeth--not the best memory for your
happiness. What are you eating? Only bread and butter. Will you have no
sardines, bacon, eggs, honey? Nothing! A very abstemious young lady! You
have done with school, and may wean yourself from school-fare."
Breakfast over, Mrs. Betts brought her young lady's leghorn hat and a
pair of new Limerick gauntlet-gloves--nice enough for Sunday in Bessie's
modest opinion, but as they were presented for common wear she put them
on and said nothing.
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