Hartwell was as secluded amongst its evergreens and fir trees now as at midsummer, but in the overcast day the house had a dull and unattractive aspect.  The maiden sisters sat in the gloomy drawing-room alone to receive their guests, but after the lapse of a few minutes Lady Latimer entered.  She was dressed in rich black silk and lace—­carefully dressed, but the three years that had passed since Bessie Fairfax last saw her had left their mark.  Bessie, her heart swelling, her eyes shining with emotion, moved to meet her, but Lady Latimer only shook hands with sweet ceremoniousness, and she was instantly herself again.  The likeness that had struck the maiden sisters did not strike my lady, or, being warned of it, she was on her guard.  There was a momentary silence, and then with cold pale face she turned to Mr. Fairfax, congratulated him on having his granddaughter at home, and asked how long she had been at Abbotsmead.  Soon appeared Mr. Oliver Smith, anxious to talk election gossip with his neighbor; and for a few minutes Bessie had Lady Latimer to herself, to gaze at and admire, and confusedly to listen to, telling Beechhurst news.

“Mr. and Mrs. Carnegie charged me with innumerable kind words for you—­Jack wants you to go home before he goes to sea—­Willie and Tom want you to make tails for their kites—­Miss Buff will send you a letter soon—­Mr. Wiley trusts you have forgiven him his forgetfulness of your message.”

“Oh no, I have not.  He lost me an opportunity that may come again I know not when,” said Bessie impetuously.

“I must persuade your grandfather to lend you to me for a month next spring, when the leaves are coming out and the orchards are in blossom; or, if he cannot spare you then, when the autumn tints begin.”

“Oh, thank you!  But I think the Forest lovely at all seasons—­when the boughs are bare or when they are covered with snow.”

Bessie would have been glad that the invitation should come now, without waiting for next year, but that was not even thought of.  Lady Latimer was looking towards the gentlemen, more interested in their interests than in the small Beechhurst chat that Bessie would never have tired of.  After a few minutes of divided attention my lady rose, and a propos of the Norminster election expressed her satisfaction in the career that seemed to be opening for Mr. Cecil Burleigh: 

“Lord Latimer thought highly of him from a boy.  He was often at Umpleby in the holidays.  He is like a son to my old friend at Brentwood; Lady Angleby is happy in having a nephew who bids fair to attain distinction, since her own sons prefer obscurity.  She deplores their want of ambition:  it must be indeed a trial to a mother of her aspiring temper.”  So my lady talked on, heard and not often interrupted; it was the old voice and grand manner that Bessie Fairfax remembered so well, and once so vastly reverenced.  She did not take much more notice of Bessie.  After