it in a serious, methodical way, Bessie standing before her listening and blushing with a confusion that increased every moment.  She was thinking of the letter from Norminster, but she did not venture yet to arrest Lady Latimer’s flow of advice.  My lady did not discern that anything was amiss.  She was accustomed to have her counsels heard with deference.  From advice she passed into exhortation, assuming that Bessie was, of course, destined to some sort of work for a living—­to dressmaking, teaching or service in some shape—­and encouraging her to make advances for her future, that it might not overtake her unprepared.  Lady Latimer had not come into the Forest until some years after the Reverend Geoffry Fairfax’s death, and she had no knowledge of Bessie’s birth, parentage and connections; but she had a principle against poor women pining in the shadow of gentility when they could help themselves by honest endeavors; and also, she had a plan for raising the quality of National School teaching by introducing into the ranks of the teachers young gentlewomen unprovided by fortune.  She advised no more than she would have done, and all she said was good, if Bessie’s circumstances had been what she assumed.  But Bessie, conscious that they were about to suffer a change, felt impelled at last to set Lady Latimer right.  Her shy face mitigated the effect of her speech.

“I have kindred in Woldshire, my lady, who want me.  I am the only child in this generation, and my grandfather Fairfax says that it is necessary for me to go back to my own people.”

Lady Latimer’s face suddenly reflected a tint of Bessie’s.  But no after-thought was in Bessie’s mind, her simplicity was genuine.  She esteemed it praise to be selected as a fit child to teach children; and, besides, whatever my lady had said at this period would have sounded right in Bessie’s ears.  When she had uttered her statement, she waited till Lady Latimer spoke.

“Do you belong to the Fairfaxes of Kirkham?  Is your grandfather Richard Fairfax of Abbotsmead?” she said in a quick voice, with an inflection of surprise.

“Yes, my lady.  My father was Geoffry, the third son; my mother was Elizabeth Bulmer.”

“I knew Abbotsmead many years ago.  It will be a great change for you.  How old are you, Bessie?  Fourteen, fifteen?”

“Fifteen, my lady, last birthday, the fourth of March.”

Lady Latimer thought to herself, “Here is an exact little girl!” Then she said aloud, “It would have been better for you if your grandfather had recalled you when you were younger.”

Bessie was prepared to hear this style of remark, and to repudiate the implication.  She replied almost with warmth, “My lady, I have lost nothing by being left here.  Beechhurst will always be home to me.  If I had my choice I would not go to Kirkham.”