turned and submitted her countenance to inspection. "There was never a
complexion yet that was improved by fretting," was the waiting-woman's
severe insinuation. "You must wait five minutes, and let the air from
the window blow on you. Really, miss, you are too old to cry."

Bessie offered no rejoinder; she was ashamed. The imperative necessity
of controlling the tender emotions had been sternly inculcated by Madame
Fournier. "Now shall I do?" she humbly asked, feeling the temperature of
her cheeks with her cool hands.

Mrs. Betts judiciously hesitated, then, speaking in a milder voice,
said, "Yes--perhaps it would not be noticed. But tears was the very
mischief for eyes--_that_ Miss Fairfax might take her word for. And it
was old Lady Angleby and her niece, one of the Miss Burleighs, who were
down stairs."

Bessie blushed consciously, appealed to the looking-glass again,
adjusted her mind to her duty, and descended to the octagon parlor. The
rose was no worse for the shower. Mr. Fairfax was there, standing with
his back to the fireplace, and lending his ears to an argument that was
being slowly enunciated by the noble matron who filled his chair. A
younger lady, yet not very young, who was seated languidly with her back
to the light, acknowledged Bessie's entrance with a smile that invited
her approach. "I think," she said, "you know my brother Cecil?" and so
they were introduced.

For several minutes yet Lady Angleby's eloquence oozed on (her theme was
female emancipation), the squire listening with an inscrutable
countenance. "Now, I hope you feel convinced," was her triumphant
conclusion. Mr. Fairfax did not say whether he was convinced or not. He