"Is it Janey Fricker?" she asked with a
pleased, amused light in her face.
"It is Janey Christie." In fact, the artist was now making his
wedding-tour, and Janey was his wife.
"Oh," said Bessie, "then this was why your portfolio was so full of
sketches at Yarmouth. I wish I had known before."
Janey's face was one universal blush as she came forward and looked up
in Miss Fairfax's handsome, beneficent face. There had always been an
indulgent protectiveness in Bessie's manner to the master-mariner's
little daughter, and it came back quite naturally. Janey expected hasty
questions, perhaps reproaches, perhaps coldness, but none of these were
in Bessie's way. She had never felt herself ill used by Janey, and in
the joy of the sudden rencounter did not recollect that she had anything
to forgive. She said how she had lived in the hope of a meeting again
with Janey some day, and what a delightful thing it was to meet thus--to
find that her dear little comrade at school was married to Harry
Musgrave's best friend! Janey had heard from her husband all the story
of Bessie's faithful love, but she was too timid and self-doubting to be
very cordial or responsive. Bessie therefore talked for both--promised
herself a renewal of their early friendship, and expressed an hospitable
wish that Mr. Christie would bring his wife to visit them in Italy next
year when he took his holiday. Christie promised that he would, and
thought Miss Fairfax more than ever good and charming; but Janey was
almost happier when Bessie rode away with Mr.
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