"
Mr. Phipps was in his sarcastic vein, and shot many a look askance at
Cinderella in the sofa corner, with her plumed velvet hat lying on a
chair beside her. She had been transformed into a most beautiful
princess, there was no denying that. He had heard a confidential whisper
respecting Mr. Cecil Burleigh, and had seen that gentleman--a very
handsome personage to play the part of prince in the story. Mr. Phipps
had curiosity, discernment, and a great shrewdness. Bessie had a happy
face, and was enjoying her day in her old home; but she would never be
Cinderella in the nursery any more--never the little sunburnt gypsy who
delighted to wander in the Forest with the boys, and was nowhere so well
pleased as when she might run wild. He told her so; he wanted to prove
her temper since her exaltation.
"I shall never be only twelve years old again, and that's true," said
Bessie, with a sportive defiance exceedingly like her former self. "But
I may travel--who knows how far and wide?--and come home browner than
any berry. Grandpapa was a traveller once; so was my uncle Laurence in
pursuit of antiquities; and my poor uncle Frederick--you know he was
lost in the Baltic? The gypsy wildness is in the blood, but I shall
always come back to the Forest to rest."
"She will keep up that delusion in her own mind to the last," said Mr.
Phipps. Then after an instant's pause, as if purposely to mark the
sequence of his thoughts, he asked, "Is that gentleman who is staying at
Fairfield with you now, Mr.
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