“Is it all any one thinks of?” said Olivia. “We don’t think of it much, dear; but I suppose that’s because we have enough of it,” and she smiled with blissful serenity.
The squire shifted in his seat and smiled, but, oh, how uneasily!
“Yes, yes, I dare say,” he said, “and Bradstone is a good fellow in spite of his money.”
“Yes?” said Olivia. “I think I will go now, papa; Bessie will be waiting for me,” and, with a nod and a loving smile, she left the room.
The squire looked after her with the same troubled, wistful gaze, then with a deep sigh returned to the heap of papers upon the table.
Olivia, with the book she had selected, and a basket of hothouse flowers, walked down to the lodge.
At the little wicket gate stood Alford, Bessie’s father, smoking a pipe, which he instantly caused to disappear as he touched his hat to Olivia.
“Good-morning, Alford!” she said. “How is Bessie this morning? Better, I hope.”
“Yes, Miss Olivia, much better. She be more like her old self again this morning—thanks to you, miss, and Mr. Faradeane. She says to me last night that it was worth while being knocked out of the cart to get all the kindness she have had from you and him, miss. Of course, we know how good-hearted you be, miss, as we’re used to it; but we didn’t expect it from a perfect stranger, so to speak. If Bessie had been his own kith and kin he couldn’t have been more kind; and I says, I do, miss, that to set all these here stories again such a thorough, kind-hearted gentleman—ah, and true, brave-handed man, miss—is a crying shame.”
“They speak ill of him! Who?” asked Olivia.