“Why, she plagues us all,” said the Squire, with great satisfaction. “She’s always running out into the fields after me, when she ought to be at her lessons, or her sampler, I tell her. Winifred’s got no end of trouble with her. And now she’s bothering my life out to go into Aunecester twice a week, to the School of Art I suppose she must go, but who’s to take her, I should like to know?”
“You, papa, of course,” said Bessie decidedly. “You are always as glad as you can be to go to Aunecester.”
“There, you hear. That’s how she serves her father,” said Mr Chester, chuckling, and pulling her hair again. “No, thank you, we’ll not come in, Henderson’s waiting to speak to me about his farm. Where’s Mannering?”
“He’s driven over to dine at the Hunters’.”
“What a man he is for society.”
“Yes, he likes it, and it does him good,” said Mr Robert quietly.
“That’s what people always say about things that please them. I tried it for a good bit upon salmon, but it didn’t do. Had to give it up. Well, girls, now you’ve had your say, I hope you’re satisfied, and will let me go home in peace. You’re a lucky man, Mannering, to have your own way without being plagued for it. Here’s Bessie, now: a fellow will have a pretty handful that gets her,—bless you, she’ll not let him say his soul’s his own,” added the Squire, in high good-humour, making signs behind his youngest daughter’s back.
“How is the Farleyense, Mr Mannering?” asked Winifred, lingering.
“I really think that, if possible, it is in more perfect condition than when you did it the honour to come to look at it.”
“And Stokes has not tried any experiments?”