Fairfax had come--that he was _there_ at the very moment, watching them
from the churchyard.

"Where?" said my lady, and turned about to see.

Mr. Fairfax knew her. He descended the steps, came out at the lych-gate,
and met her. At that instant the cast of his countenance reminded Bessie
of her cynical friend Mr. Phipps, and a thought crossed her mind that if
Lady Latimer had not recognized her grandfather and made a movement to
speak, he would not have challenged her. It would have seemed a very
remote period to Bessie, but it did not seem so utterly out of date to
themselves, that Richard Fairfax in his adolescence had almost run mad
for love of my lady in her teens. She had not reciprocated his passion,
and in a fit of desperation he had married his wife, the mother of his
three sons. Perhaps the cool affection he had borne them all his life
was the measure of his indifference to that poor lady, and that
indifference the measure of his vindictive constancy to his first idol.
They had not seen each other for many years; their courses had run far
apart, and they had grown old. But a woman never quite forgets to feel
interested in a man who has once worshipped her, though he may long
since have got up off his knees and gone and paid his devotions at other
shrines. Lady Latimer had not been so blessed in her life and affections
that she could afford to throw away even a flattering memory. Bessie's
talk of her grandfather had brought the former things to her mind. Her
face kindled at the sight of her friend, and her voice was the soul of
kindness. Mr. Fairfax looked up and pitied her, and lost his likeness to
Mr. Phipps. Ambitious, greedy of power, of rank, and riches--thus and
thus had he once contemned her; but there was that fascinating smile,
and so she would charm him if they met some day in Hades.