“Oh, mother, do let me hear it,” implored Hatty, with the persistence of a spoiled child. “I am sure there is something splendid about Bessie, and I do hate mysteries.”
“So do I, Hatty; we think alike there. Shall I read it aloud, my dear?” and as Bessie nodded, Mrs. Lambert read the letter in her quiet, silvery voice:
“My Dear Miss Lambert,” it began; “I told you that I should not allow you to forget me, so, you see, I am keeping my promise like a reliable young woman. Mamma says I have made a bad commencement to my letter—that self-praise is no recommendation. I think I remember that profoundly wise saying in copy-book days; but I hold a more worldly view of the subject. I think people are taken at their own value; so, on principle, I never undervalue myself; and the gist of all this is that I do not intend to be forgotten by a certain young lady who enacted the part of Good Samaritan in the Sheen Valley.
“Now, as I must candidly confess to a sincere wish for a better acquaintance with this same young lady, I am writing in my own and mamma’s name to beg you to favor us with your company at The Grange for a few weeks.
“You must not think this is a very unconventional proceeding on our part, as our parents were old friends. Mamma is writing to Dr. Lambert by the same post, and she means to say all sorts of pretty things to induce him to intrust you to our care.
“I wish I had the power of persuasion. Mamma has such a knack of saying nice things, but indeed you must come. The Grange is such a dear old house, and we know such pleasant people, and I want you to see our Kentish lanes, and indeed mamma and I will make you so comfortable. I don’t mention Richard, because he is nobody, and he never interferes with our friends.
“Now I am taking it for granted that you will not refuse me, so I will proceed to tell you our arrangements. Mamma and I have been in town the last five weeks, and we are both of us tired to death of Vanity Fair, so we mean to go back to Oatlands next week. You may come to us as soon after that as you like; fix your own day and your train, and I will be at the station to meet you.
“I remain, yours most sincerely,
“Edna Sefton.”
“Oh, Bessie, how delightful! But I don’t like to spare you again so soon.”