Edna sung charmingly, and Bessie much enjoyed listening to her; and when she was tired Mrs. Sefton beckoned Bessie to her couch, and talked to her for a long time about her family.
“All this interests me; I like to hear your simple descriptions, my child,” she said, when Edna interrupted them by reminding her mother of the lateness of the hour. “Now you must go to bed.” And she dismissed her with another kiss and a kindly good-night.
As the two girls went out into the hall they found Richard Sefton hanging up his cap on the peg. He wore a light overcoat over his evening dress, and had evidently spent his evening out.
“Good-night, Richard,” observed Edna, with a careless nod, as she passed him; but Bessie held out her hand with a smile.
“Good-night, Mr. Sefton. What a beautiful evening it has been!”
“Yes, and so warm,” he returned cheerfully, as though the girl’s smile had loosened his tongue; “it is glorious haymaking weather. I expect we shall have a fine crop in the lower meadow.”
“Are you haymaking?” exclaimed Bessie, with almost childish delight. “Oh, I hope your sister will take me into the hayfield.”
“I will promise anything, if only you and Richard will not turn over the haycocks now,” retorted Edna, with sleepy impatience. “Do come, Bessie.” And Bessie followed her obediently.
Richard Sefton looked after her as her white dress disappeared up the dark staircase.
“She seems a different sort from most of Edna’s friends,” he muttered, as he lighted his pipe and retired to the nondescript apartment that was called his study. “There does not seem much nonsense about her. What do you think about it, Mac?” as the hound laid his head on his knee. “I imagine, as a rule, women have a precious lot of it.” And he whistled a bar from the “Miller of the Dee.”