afford to throw away even a flattering memory.  Bessie’s talk of her grandfather had brought the former things to her mind.  Her face kindled at the sight of her friend, and her voice was the soul of kindness.  Mr. Fairfax looked up and pitied her, and lost his likeness to Mr. Phipps.  Ambitious, greedy of power, of rank, and riches—­thus and thus had he once contemned her; but there was that fascinating smile, and so she would charm him if they met some day in Hades.

* * * * *

Bessie went in-doors to apprise her mother of the visitors who were at hand.  Mr. Fairfax and Lady Latimer stood for a quarter of an hour or longer in the shade of the churchyard trees, exchanging news, the chief news being the squire’s business at Beechhurst.  Lady Latimer offered him her advice and countenance for his granddaughter, and assured him that Bessie had fine qualities, much simplicity, and the promise of beauty.  Meanwhile Mrs. Carnegie, forewarned of the impending interview, collected herself and prepared for it.  She sent Bessie into the rarely-used drawing-room to pull up the blinds and open the glass door upon the lawn; and, further to occupy the nervous moments, bade her gather a few roses for the china bowl on the round table.  Bessie had just finished her task, and was standing with a lovely Devoniensis in her hand, when her grandfather appeared, supported by Lady Latimer.

Mr. Fairfax was received by Mrs. Carnegie with courtesy, but without effusion.  It was the anxious desire of her heart that no ill-will should arise because of Bessie’s restoration.  She was one of those unaffected, reasonable, calm women whom circumstances rarely disconcert.  Then her imagination was not active.  She did not pensively reflect that here was her once father-in-law, but she felt comfortable in the consciousness that Bessie had on a nice clean pink gingham frock and a crimped frill round her white throat, in which she looked as pretty as she could look.  Bessie’s light hair, threaded with gold, all crisp and wavy, and her pure bright complexion, gave her an air of health and freshness not to be surpassed.  Her beauty was not too imposing—­it was of everyday; and though her wicked grandfather seemed to frown at her with his bushy gray brows, and to search her through with his cold keen eyes, he was not displeased by her appearance.  He was gratified that she took after his family.  Bessie’s expression as she regarded him again made him think of that characteristic signature of her royal namesake, “Yours, as you demean yourself, ELIZABETH,” and he framed a resolution to demean himself with all the humility and discretion at his command.  He experienced an impulse of affection towards her stronger than anything he had ever felt for his sons:  perhaps he discerned in her a more absolute strain of himself.  His sons had all taken after their mother.