“It is strange, but one grows used to any place very soon,” Bessie answered.

“You have no companion, and Mr. Fairfax sets his face against duennas.  What shall you do next week?”

“What I am bid,” said Bessie laconically.  “My grandfather has bespoken for me the good offices of Mrs. Stokes as guide to the choice of a blue bonnet; the paramount duty of my life at present seems to be to conform myself to the political views of Mr. Cecil Burleigh in the color of my ribbons.  I have great pleasure in doing so, for blue is my color, and suits me.”

Miss Burleigh had a good heart, and let Bessie’s little bravado pass.  “Are you interested in the coming election?  I cannot think of anything else.  My brother’s career may almost be said to depend on his success.”

“Then I hope he will win.”

“Your kind good wishes should help him.  You will come and stay at Brentwood?”

“Brentwood? what is Brentwood?”

“My aunt’s house.  It is only two miles out of Norminster.  My aunt was so impatient to see you that she refused to wait one day.  Cecil will often be with us, for my father’s house is at Carisfort—­too far off.”

“I am at my grandfather’s commands.  I have not a friend here.  I know no one, and have even to find out the ways and manners of my new world.  Do you live at Brentwood?”

“Yes.  My home is with my aunt.  I shall be glad, very glad, to give you any help or direction that you like to ask for.  Mrs. Stokes has a charming taste in dress, and is a dear little woman.  You could not have a nicer friend; and she is well married, which is always an advantage in a girl’s friend.  You will like Colonel Stokes too.”

In the course of the afternoon Bessie had the opportunity of judging for herself.  Colonel Stokes brought his wife to call upon her.  Their residence was close by Abbotsmead, at the Abbey Lodge, restored by Mr. Fairfax for their occupation.  Colonel Stokes was old enough to be his wife’s father, and young enough to be her hero and companion.  She was a plump little lady, full of spirits and loving-kindness.  Bessie considered her, and decided that she was of her own age, but Mrs. Stokes had two boys at home to contradict that.  She looked so girlish still in her sage matronhood because she was happy, gay, contented with her life, because her eyes were blue and limpid as deep lake water, and her cheeks round and fresh as half-blown roses ungathered.  Her dress was as dainty as herself, and merited the eulogium that Miss Burleigh had passed upon it.

“You are going to be so kind as to introduce me to a good milliner at Norminster?” Bessie said after a few polite preliminaries.

“Yes—­to Miss Jocund, who will be delighted to make your acquaintance.  I shall tell her to take pains with you, but there will be no need to tell her that; she always does take pains with girls who promise to do her credit.  I am afraid there is not time to send to Paris for the blue bonnet you must wear next Thursday, but she will make you something nice; you may trust her.  This wonderful election is the event of the day.  We have resolved that Mr. Cecil Burleigh shall head the poll.”