The desire was abundantly gratified, and then Mr. Laurence
Fairfax said, "This is Laury," and offered him to Bessie for a
repetition of the ceremonial.
Bessie could not have told why, but her eyes filled as she took him into
her lap and took off his pretty hat to see his shining curly locks.
Master Justus was already at the cupboard dragging out the toys, and her
uncle stood and looked down at her with a pleased, benevolent face. "Of
course they are my cousins?" said Bessie simply, and quite as simply he
said "Yes."
This was all the interrogatory. But games ensued in which Bessie was
brought to her knees and a seat on the carpet, and had the beautiful
propriety of her hair as sadly disarranged as in her gypsy childhood
amongst the rough Carnegie boys. Mrs. Betts put it tidy again before
luncheon, after the children were gone. Mrs. Betts had fathomed the
whole mystery, and would have been sympathetic about it had not her
young lady manifested an invincible gayety. Bessie hardly knew herself
for joy. She wanted very much to hear the romantic story that must
belong to those bonny children, but she felt that she must wait her
uncle's time to tell it. Happily for her peace, the story was not long
delayed: she learnt it that evening.
This was the scene in Mr. Laurence Fairfax's study. He was seated at
ease in his great leathern chair, and perched on his knee, with one arm
round his neck and a ripe pomegranate cheek pressed against his ear, was
that winsome little lady in blue who was to be known henceforward as the
philosopher's wife: if she had not been so exquisitely pretty it would
have seemed a liberty to take with so much learning.
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