"What was that?" Mr. Fairfax asked, though he had a shrewd guess.

"I did not remember how easy it is to send a letter--not being used to
write without leave--and I trusted Mr. Wiley, whom I met on Ryde pier
going straight back to Beechhurst, with a message to them at home, which
he forgot to deliver. And though I did write after, it was too late, for
we left Ryde the same day. So I lost the opportunity of seeing my father
and mother. It was a pity, because we were so near; and I was all the
more sorry because it was my own fault."

Mr. Fairfax was silent for a few minutes after this bold confession. He
had interdicted any communication with the Forest, as Mr. Carnegie
prevised. He did not, however, consider it necessary to provoke Bessie's
ire by telling her that he was responsible for her immense
disappointment. He let that pass, and when he spoke again it was to draw
her out on the more important subject of what progress Mr. Cecil
Burleigh had made in her interest. It was truly vexatious, but as Bessie
told her simple tale she was conscious that her color rose and deepened
slowly to a burning blush. Why? She vehemently assured herself that she
did not care a straw for Mr. Cecil Burleigh, that she disliked him
rather than otherwise, yet at the mere sound of his name she blushed.
Perhaps it was because she dreaded lest anybody should suspect the
mistake her vanity had made before. Her grandfather gave her one acute
glance, and was satisfied that this business also went well.

"Mr. Cecil Burleigh left the yacht at Ryde. It was the first day of the
regatta when we anchored there, and we landed and saw the town," was all
Bessie said in words, but her self-betrayal was eloquent.

"We--what do you mean by _we_? Did your uncle Frederick land?" asked the