Harry sighed, and looked up with great content. "It is a compact, Bessie," said he, holding out his right hand.
"Trust me, Harry," said she, and laid hers softly in his open palm.
Mrs. Musgrave's voice was heard from the sitting-room window: "Bessie! Bessie dear! where are you?—Lady Latimer wishes to go. Make haste—come in." A bit of Bessie's blue-gray dress had betrayed her whereabouts. And lo! the two young people emerged from the shelter of the trees, and quite at their leisure sauntered up the lawn, talking with a sweet gay confidence, just as they used to talk when they were boy and girl, and Bessie came to tea at Brook, and they were the best friends in the world. Harry's mother guessed in a moment what had happened. Lady Latimer caught one glance and loftily averted her observation.
They had to go round to the hall-door, and they did not hurry themselves. They took time to assure one another how deep was their happiness, their mutual confidence—to promise a frequent exchange of letters, and to fear that they would not meet again before Bessie left Fairfield. Lady Latimer was seated in the carriage when they appeared in sight. Bessie got in meekly, and was bidden to be quicker. She smiled at Harry, who looked divinely glad, and as they drove off rapidly recollected that she had not said good-bye to his mother.
"Never mind—Harry will explain," she said aloud: evidently her thoughts were astray.
"Explain what? I am afraid there are many things that need explanation," said my lady austerely, and not another word until they reached home. But Bessie's heart was in perfect peace, and her countenance reflected nothing but the sunshine.
CHAPTER XLIV.
A LONG, DULL DAY.
That evening Bessie Fairfax was charming, she was so happy. She was good and gracious again to Mr. Cecil Burleigh, and she was never prettier. He basked in her content, without trying to understand it—thought more than ever what a buoyant, sweet-tempered woman she would be, to give a man rest and refreshment at home, whose active life must be spent in the arid ways of the political world. Dora had her conjectures, and whispered them, but Bessie made no revelation, gave no confidences.