“What does that matter?” with a touch of impatience. “I thought you were free from that sort of nonsense, Bessie.”
“It does not matter to us,” replied Bessie, with a slight emphasis on the “us” that was exquisite to Richard’s ear. “I am only speaking of Mrs. Sefton; but she is not your own mother, and she has never made you happy, and she has no right to prevent you pleasing yourself.”
“That is spoken like a sensible girl. I must thank you for that speech. Your father said much the same thing to me. ‘You are your own master,’ he remarked, ‘and your stepmother has no right to control your choice; but, knowing her as I do, she will not be pleased.’”
“You will tell her as soon as possible, will you not—and Edna, too?”
“I will tell them this morning. You must leave everything to me. You shall be subjected to no unpleasantness that I can prevent. And, Bessie, I am going to take you down to Cliffe. I have made my mind up to that.”
“Very well,” she said, with a smile. And it was a new thing for Richard to assert himself and meet with no contradiction; and as he looked at the girl beside him, and met her clear, candid glance, his heart swelled within him for very gratitude.
“It is getting late; we must go home now,” observed Bessie, wondering a little at his sudden silence.
“Yes, we will go home,” he replied, rousing himself. “I was just thinking, dear, what life will mean to me when I have you beside me.”