Harry said, "You are all in
black, Bessie."
"Yes, for poor grandpapa: don't you remember? I will put it off
to-morrow if you dislike it."
"Put it off; I _do_ dislike it: you have worn it long enough." They
directed their steps to their favorite seat under the beeches, but Mrs.
Musgrave, restless since her son's arrival, and ever on the watch, came
down to them with a plea that they would avoid the damp ground and
falling dew. The ground was dry as dust, and the sun would not set yet
for a good hour.
"There is the sitting-room if you want to be by yourselves," she said
plaintively. "Perhaps you'll be able to persuade Harry to show some
sense, Bessie Fairfax, and feeling for his health: he won't listen to
his mother."
She followed them into the spacious old room, and would have shut the
lattices because the curtains were gently flapping in the evening
breeze, but Harry protested: "Mother dear, let us have air--it is life
and pleasure to me. After the sultry languor of town this is delicious."
"There you go, Harry, perverse as ever! He never could be made to mind a
draught, Bessie; and though he has just been told that consumption is in
the family, and carried off his uncle Walter--every bit as fine a young
man as himself--he pays no heed. He might as well have stopped on the
farm from the beginning, if this was to be the end. I am more mortified
than tongue can tell."
Harry stood gazing at her with a pitiful patience, and said kindly, "You
fear too much, mother.
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