Bessie therefore refrained
herself, and for ever so long there was silence in the room, except for
the ticking of the clock on the chimney-piece and the occasional
dropping of the ashes from the bars. At last she left looking at the
sketches and mechanically reverted to the photographs upon which Mr.
Fairfax came out of his reverie and spoke again. She was weary, but the
evening was now almost over.
"I do not like those sun-pictures. They are not permanent, and a
water-color drawing is more pleasing to begin with. You can draw a
little, Elizabeth? Have you any sketches about Caen or Bayeux?"
Bessie modestly said that she had, and went to bring them; school-girl
fashion, she wished to exhibit her work, and to hear that the money
spent on her neglected education had not been all spent in vain. Her
grandfather was graciously inclined to commend her productions. He told
her that she had a nice touch, and that it was quite worth her while to
cultivate her talent. "It will add a great interest to your travels when
you have the chance of travelling," he said; "for, like life itself,
travelling has many blank spaces that a taste for sketching agreeably
fills up. Ten o'clock already? Yes--good-night."
* * * * *
The following morning Mr. Fairfax and Bessie walked to church together.
Along the road everybody acknowledged the squire with bow or curtsey,
and the little children stood respectfully at gaze as he passed.
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