"Wait for me, Miss Fairfax," said Margaret as she dismounted. "Come to
my room." And Bessie went without a word, though her lips were laughing.
She was laughing at herself, at her incongruousness, at her trivial
mortifications. Margaret would set her at her ease, and Bessie learnt
that she had a rare charm in her hair, both from its color and the
manner of its growth. It was lovely, Margaret told her, and pressed its
crisp shining abundance with her hand delicately.

"That is a comfort in adverse circumstances," said Bessie with a light
in her eyes. Then they ran down stairs to find the morning-room deserted
and all the company gone in to luncheon.

The elders of the party were placed at a round table, a seat for Bessie
being reserved by Lady Latimer. Two others were empty, into one of which
dropt Margaret; the other was occupied by Mr. Bernard, the squire of the
next parish, to whom Margaret was engaged. Their marriage, in fact, was
close at hand, and Beechhurst was already devising its rejoicings for
the wedding-day.

The little girls were at a side-table, sociable and happy in under
tones. Bessie believed that she might have been happy too--at any rate,
not quite so miserable--if Mr. Wiley had not been there to lift his
brows and intimate surprise at the honor that was done her. She hated
her exaltation. She quoted inwardly, "They that are low need fear no
fall," and trembled for what he might be moved to say next. There was a
terrible opportunity of silence, for at first nobody talked. A crab of
brobdignagian proportions engrossed the seniors. Bessie and the younger
ones had roast lamb without being asked what they would take, and
Bessie, all drawbacks notwithstanding, found herself capable of eating