"Woldshire," said Bessie curtly; and the color mounted to her face at the boldness of her old friend's insinuation.
Mr. Phipps admired her anger, and went on with great coolness: "He has some reputation—member for Norminster, I think you said? The Fairfaxes used to be great in that part of the county fifty years ago. And I suppose, Miss Fairfax, you can talk French now and play on the piano?"
Bessie felt that he was very impertinent, but she preserved her good-humor, and replied laughing, "Yes, Mr. Phipps, I can do a little of both, like other young ladies." Mr. Carnegie had now come in.
"The old piano is sadly out of tune, but perhaps, Bessie dear, you would give us a song before you go," suggested her mother.
Bessie gracefully complied, but nobody thought much of her little French canzonette. "It is but a tiny chirp, Bessie; we have better songs than that at home—eh, mother?" said the doctor, and that was all the compliment she got on her performance. Mr. Phipps was amused by her disconcerted air; already she was beyond the circle where plain speaking is the rule and false politeness the exception. She knew that her father must be right, and registered a silent vow to sing no more unless in private.
Just at this crisis a carriage drove up and stopped at the gate. "It is the Fairfield carriage come to carry you off, Bessie," said her mother. Lady Latimer looked out and spoke to the footman, who touched his hat and ran to the porch with his message, "Would Miss Fairfax make haste?—her ladyship was in a hurry."
"I must go," said Bessie, and took her hat. Mr. Phipps sighed like an echo, and everybody laughed. "Good-bye, but you will see me very soon again," she cried from the gate, and then she got into the carriage.
"To Admiral Parking's," said Lady Latimer, and they drove off on a round of visits, returning to Fairfield only in time to dress for dinner.
Just at that hour Harry Musgrave was coming back from his ramble in the red light of a gorgeous sunset, to be met by his mother with the news that Bessie Fairfax had called at the manor in the course of a ride with the doctor in the morning, and what a pity it was that he was out of the way! for he might have had a ride with them if he had not set off quite so early on his walk. Harry regretted too much what he had missed to have much to say about it; it was very unlucky. Bessie at Fairfield, he clearly discerned, was not at home for him, and Lady Latimer was not his friend. He had not heard any secrets respecting Mr. Cecil Burleigh, but a suspicion obscured his fancy since last night, and his mother's tidings threw him into a mood of dejection that made him as pale as a fond lover whom his lady has rebuffed.