“If he had more freedom then at Newport,” argued Bessie, “it’s the more to his credit that he behaved well; and if he has to be so careful here it’s possible he’ll behave even better.”
“Better, better?” echoed her sister a little impatiently. “My dear child, what do you mean by better and what’s your point of view?”
Bessie wondered. “What do you mean by my point of view?”
“Don’t you care for Lord Lambeth—a tiny speck?” Mrs. Westgate demanded.
This time Bessie Alden took it with still deeper reserve. She slowly got up from table, turning her face away. “You’ll oblige me by not talking so.”
Mrs. Westgate sat watching her for some moments as she moved slowly about the room and went and stood at the window. “I’ll write to him this afternoon,” she said at last.
“Do as you please!” Bessie answered; after which she turned round. “I’m not afraid to say I like Lord Lambeth. I like him very much.”
Mrs. Westgate bethought herself. “He’s not clever.”
“Well, there have been clever people whom I’ve disliked,” the girl said; “so I suppose I may like a stupid one. Besides, Lord Lambeth’s no stupider than any one else.”
“No stupider than he gives you warning of,” her sister smiled.