When the ladies withdrew, Mr.
Logger almost immediately followed, and then Mr. Cecil Burleigh was
himself again. He unbent to this athletic young man, whose Oxford
double-first was the hall-mark of his quality, and whom Miss Fairfax was
so frankly glad to see. Harry Musgrave had heard the reputation of the
other, and met his condescension with the easy deference of a young man
who knows the world. They were mutually interesting, and stayed in the
dining-room until Lady Latimer sent to say that tea was in.
When they entered the drawing-room my lady and Mr. Logger were deep in a
report of the emigration commission. Bessie and Dora were sitting on the
steps into the rose-garden watching the moon rise over the distant sea.
Dora was bidden to come in out of the dew and give the gentlemen a cup
of tea; Bessie was not bidden to do anything: she was apparently in
disgrace. Dora obeyed like a little scared rabbit. Harry Musgrave stood
a minute pensive, then took possession of a fine, quilted red silk
_duvet_ from the couch, and folded it round Bessie's shoulders with the
remark that her dress was but thin. Mr. Cecil Burleigh witnessed with
secret trepidation the simple, affectionate thoughtfulness with which
the act was done and the beautiful look of kindness with which it was
acknowledged. Bessie's innocent face was a mirror for her heart. If this
fine gentleman was any longer deceived on his own account, he was one of
the blind who are blind because they will not see.
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