It must be considerably grown by now,
that nest-egg. You remember, I see."
Anybody might see that Bessie remembered; not her face only, but her
neck, her very arms, burned.
"Secrets are not to be told out of the confessional," said Mr. Bernard.
"Miss Fairfax, you blush unseen by me."
There was a general low ripple of laughter, and everybody began to talk
at once, to cover the young lady's palpable confusion. Afterward, Lady
Latimer, who had been amused, begged to know what that mysterious
nest-egg might be. Bessie hesitated. "Tell us, _do_ tell us," urged Dora
and Mrs. Bernard; so Bessie told them. She had to mention the schemes
for sending her to the Hampton Training School and Madame Michaud's
millinery shop by way of making her story clear, and then Lady Latimer
rather regretted that curiosity had prevailed, and manifested her regret
by saying that Mr. Wiley was one of the most awkward and unsafe guests
she ever invited to her table. "I should have asked him to meet Mr.
Harry Musgrave last night, but he would have been certain to make some
remark or inquiry that would have hurt the young man's feelings or put
him out of countenance."
"Oh no," said Bessie with a beautiful blushing light in her face, "Harry
is above that. He has made his own place, and holds it with perfect ease
and simplicity. I see no gentleman who is his better."
"You were always his advocate," Lady Latimer said with a sudden
accession of coldness.
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