Bessie would have liked to be asked to stay at Fairfield longer (which
was rather poor-spirited of her), for, though she did not go so much to
her old home or to Brook as she desired and had expected, it was
something to know that they were within reach. Her sense of happiness
was not very far from perfect--the slight bitterness infused into her
joy gave it a piquancy--and Lady Latimer presently had brought to her
notice symptoms so ominous that she began to wish for the day that would
relieve her from her charge.
One morning Mr. Cecil Burleigh was pacing the garden without his hat,
his head bent down, and his arms clasped behind him as his custom was,
when Bessie, after regarding him with pensive abstraction for several
minutes, remarked to Dora in a quaint, melancholy voice: "Mr. Cecil
Burleigh's hyacinthine locks grow thin--he is almost bald." My lady
jumped up hastily to look, and declared it nonsense--it was only the sun
shining on his head. Dora added that he was growing round-shouldered
too.
"Why not say humpbacked at once?" exclaimed Lady Latimer angrily. Both
the girls laughed: it was very naughty.
"But he is not humpbacked, Aunt Olympia," said the literal Dora.
My lady walked about in a fume, moved and removed books and papers, and
tried to restrain a violent impulse of displeasure. She took up the
review that contained Harry Musgrave's paper, and said with impatience,
"Dora, how often must I beg of you to put away the books that are done
with? Surely this is done with.
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