"
Harry smiled despite his trouble; he knew what Christie meant, and he
believed him. He parted with his friend there, and turned back in the
soft gloom towards home, thinking of her all the way--dear little
Bessie, so frank and warm-hearted. He remembered how, when he was a boy
and lost a certain prize at school that he had reckoned on too
confidently, she had whispered away his shame-faced disappointment with
a rosy cheek against his jacket, and "Never mind, Harry, I love you."
And she would do it again, he knew she would. The feeling was in
her--she could not hide it.
But at this point of his meditations his worldly wisdom came in to dash
their beauty. Unless he could bridge with bow of highest promise the
gulf that vicissitude had opened between them since those days of
primitive affection, he need not set his mind upon her. He ought not, so
he told himself, though his mind was set upon her already beyond the
chance of turning. He did not know yet that he had a rival; when that
knowledge came all other obstacles, sentimental, chivalrous, would be
swallowed up in its portentous shadow. For to-night he held his reverie
in peace.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
_AT FAIRFIELD._
"We thought you were lost," was Lady Latimer's greeting to Bessie
Fairfax when she entered the Fairfield drawing-room, tired with her long
walk, but still in buoyant spirits.
"Oh no!" said Bessie. "I have come from Brook.
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