“Perfectly right, thank you,” returned Bessie, as she rose with alacrity.
Mrs. Sefton’s eyes followed her curiously as she crossed the room.
“A healthy, fresh-colored country girl,” she said to herself; “quite a little rustic; but she seems a nice, harmless little thing; though why Edna took such a fancy to her rather puzzles me. I thought she would take after her father, but I can see no likeness. What a handsome fellow he was—poor Herbert!—and so gentlemanly.” And here Mrs. Sefton sighed; for to her it was always a perilous thing to recall the past. No woman had ever been so foolish as she; she had cast away gold for dross.
While her hostess was indulging in these heavy reflections, Bessie was uttering little staccato exclamations of delight at the sight of the room allotted her.
“What a lovely view!” she had observed, running to the window, for not only was the pretty shady garden to be seen, but some meadows, and a glimpse of a fir wood in the distance; and it all looked so cool and still, and the only objects of moving life were some white lambs feeding by their mothers, and a pretty brown foal with its dam.
“Do you think you will like your room?” asked Edna demurely; but there was a gleam of fun in her eyes as she put the question, for she had a vivid remembrance of Bessie’s room at home; the strips of faded carpet, the little iron bedstead, and painted drawers; and yet it had been a haven of rest to her that night, and she had slept very sweetly on the little hard bed.
“It is far too grand for me,” returned Bessie candidly. “I shall feel like a fine lady for the first time in my life.” And she looked round her with admiring scrutiny, noting every detail—the wax candles and hot-house flowers on the toilet-table, the handsome wardrobe and cheval-glass, the writing-table with its dainty appendages, and the cosy-looking couch; even the brass bedstead, with its blue cretonne hangings, and frilled pillow-cases, demanded some fresh comment.
“I think it is a lovely room, and far too good for me,” finished Bessie.
“All our rooms are very comfortable,” was the careless response; “but one is too used to this sort of thing to notice it. Now shall I send Brandon to help you? She is our maid, and understands hair-dressing perfectly. She will help you unpack and arrange your things.”
“Oh, no, thank you!” returned Bessie, in such an alarmed voice that Miss Sefton laughed; and then she continued, in rather a shamefaced manner: “You see I am not like you, Miss Sefton. I have not been used to luxuries and being waited on; we are plain people, and wait on ourselves.”