There was something of entreaty in her voice: "The
morning-room is the coolest, Elizabeth--take Mr. Musgrave there. I shall
be occupied until luncheon, but I hope you will be able to persuade him
to stay."
Bessie's lips repeated, "Stay," and Harry not unthankfully entered the
house. He dropt into a great easy-chair and put up one hand to cover his
eyes, and so continued for several minutes. Lady Latimer stood an
instant looking at him with a pitiful, scared gaze, and then, avoiding
Bessie's face, she turned and left the lovers together. Bessie laid her
hand on Harry's shoulder and spoke kindly to him: he was tired, the
atmosphere was very close and took away his strength. After a while he
recovered himself and said something about Christie's friendliness, and
perhaps if _he_ illustrated the story they should see reminiscences of
the manor-garden and of Great-Ash Ford, and other favorite spots in the
Forest. They did not talk much or eagerly at all, but Christie's
commendation of the sad pretty story of true love was a distinct
pleasure to them both, and especially to Harry. His mother had begged
him to stop at home and let the letter be sent over to Fairfield, but he
wanted the gratification of telling Bessie his news himself; and the
ride in the hot, airless weather had been too fatiguing. Bessie took up
a piece of work and sat by the window, silent, soothing. He turned his
chair to face her, and from his position he had a distant view of the
sea--a dark blue line on the horizon.
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