Cecil Burleigh, a Woldshire man or South
country?"
"Woldshire," said Bessie curtly; and the color mounted to her face at
the boldness of her old friend's insinuation.
Mr. Phipps admired her anger, and went on with great coolness: "He has
some reputation--member for Norminster, I think you said? The Fairfaxes
used to be great in that part of the county fifty years ago. And I
suppose, Miss Fairfax, you can talk French now and play on the piano?"
Bessie felt that he was very impertinent, but she preserved her
good-humor, and replied laughing, "Yes, Mr. Phipps, I can do a little of
both, like other young ladies." Mr. Carnegie had now come in.
"The old piano is sadly out of tune, but perhaps, Bessie dear, you would
give us a song before you go," suggested her mother.
Bessie gracefully complied, but nobody thought much of her little French
canzonette. "It is but a tiny chirp, Bessie; we have better songs than
that at home--eh, mother?" said the doctor, and that was all the
compliment she got on her performance. Mr. Phipps was amused by her
disconcerted air; already she was beyond the circle where plain speaking
is the rule and false politeness the exception. She knew that her father
must be right, and registered a silent vow to sing no more unless in
private.
Just at this crisis a carriage drove up and stopped at the gate. "It is
the Fairfield carriage come to carry you off, Bessie," said her mother.
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