"Oxford has done everything for him. Dora, close
that window; Margaret, don't stand in a draught. Mr. Harry Musgrave is
a very plain young man."
"Aunt Olympia, no," remonstrated Mrs. Bernard, who had a suspicion of
Miss Fairfax's tenderness in that quarter, and for kind sympathy would
not have her ruffled.
But Bessie was quite equal to the occasion. "His plainness is lost in
what Mr. Logger calls his power of countenance," said she. "And I'm sure
he has a fine eye, and the sweetest smile I know."
Lady Latimer's visage was a study of lofty disapproval: "Has he but one
eye?--I thought he had two. When young ladies begin to talk of young
gentlemen's fine eyes and sweet smiles, we begin to reflect. But they
commonly keep such sentiments to themselves."
Dora and Bessie glanced at one another, and had the audacity to laugh.
Then Mrs. Bernard laughed and shook her head. My lady colored; she felt
herself in a minority, and, though she did not positively laugh, her
lips parted and her air of severity melted away. Bessie had cast off all
fear of her with her old belief in her perfection. She loved her, but
she knew now that she would never submit to her guidance. Lady Latimer
glanced in the girl's brave, bright face, and said meaningly, "The
nest-egg will not have been saving up unnecessarily if you condescend to
such a folly as _that_." And Bessie felt that my lady had got the last
word for the present.
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