The bell had rung, however, and the footman appeared.  “Miss Fairfax will take supper—­she dined in the middle of the day,” said Lady Latimer, but nothing could be less hospitable than the inflection of her speech as she gave the order.

“Indeed, indeed, I am not hungry; we had chicken and tongue to tea,” cried Bessie, rather shamefaced now.

“And matrimony-cake and hot buttered toast—­”

“No, we had no matrimony-cake,” said Bessie, who understood now that my lady was cross; and no one could be more taunting and unpleasant than my lady when she was cross.

The footman had taken Miss Fairfax’s remonstrative statement for a negative, and had returned to his own supper when the drawing-room bell rang again:  “Why do you not announce Miss Fairfax’s supper?  Is it not ready yet?”

“In a minute, my lady,” said the man, and vanished.  In due time he reappeared to say that supper was served, and Lady Latimer looked at her young guest and repeated the notice.  Bessie laughed, and, rising with a fine color and rather proud air, left the room and went straight to bed.  When neither she nor Mrs. Betts came in to prayers half an hour later, my lady became silent and reflective:  she was not accustomed to revolt amongst her young ladies, and Miss Fairfax’s quiet defiance took her at a disadvantage.  She had anticipated a much more timid habit in this young lady, whom she had undertaken to manage and mould to the will of her grandfather.  In the morning her humor was gracious again, and Bessie, who had received counsel from Dora Meadows, deeply experienced in Aunt Olympia’s peculiarities, made no sign of remembering that there had been any fray.  But she was warned of the imperious temper of her hostess, who would have no independence of action amongst her youthful charges, but expected them to consult her and defer to her at every step.  “Why, then,” thought Bessie, “did she bid me, in the first instance, do exactly what I liked?” To this there was no answer:  is there ever an answer to the why of an exacting woman’s caprice?

After breakfast the young ladies took Mr. Logger out for a salubrious airing across the heath.  In their absence Harry Musgrave and young Christie called at Fairfield, and, no longer in terror of Lady Latimer’s patronage, talked to her of themselves, which she liked.  She was exceedingly kind, and asked them both to dine the next day.  “You will meet Mr. Cecil Burleigh:  you may have heard his name, Mr. Musgrave?  The Conservative member for Norminster,” she said rather imposingly.

“Oh yes, he is one of the coming men,” said Harry, much interested, and he accepted the invitation.  Mr. Christie declined it.  His mother was very ill, he said, but he would send his portfolio for her ladyship to look over, if she would allow him.  Her ladyship would be delighted.