“Thank you, Bessie,” said Olivia, a slight flush passing across her face. “Yes, I am going to marry Mr. Bartley Bradstone; so you see you will not lose me altogether.”
“No,” said Bessie, with a quiet sigh; “that thought comforts me a little. The Maples isn’t far, and—and you’ll let me see you sometimes, Miss Olivia?”
“As often as you like, Bessie,” said Olivia. “But you speak as if I had been ordered to execution,” and she smiled.
Bessie colored, and took up her work again.
“Did I, miss? I didn’t mean to; I only meant that it—it was a surprise.”
Olivia’s eyes dropped.
“Such things are always a surprise, Bessie,” she said. “I came to ask how you were, but I see there is no need to do so. It’s just the Bessie of old, sitting there so quietly and happily at her needle——”
A strange look flashed across the girl’s face, and she bent still lower over her work.
“Yes, miss, I’m all right now,” she said, quietly. “Father was afraid that the fright would upset me for a long time; but Mr. Faradeane says such care was taken of me that I shall come to no harm. I’m quite right now.”
At the mention of Faradeane’s name, Olivia started slightly, and reached for her shawl.