The little girls were at a side-table, sociable and happy in under tones.  Bessie believed that she might have been happy too—­at any rate, not quite so miserable—­if Mr. Wiley had not been there to lift his brows and intimate surprise at the honor that was done her.  She hated her exaltation.  She quoted inwardly, “They that are low need fear no fall,” and trembled for what he might be moved to say next.  There was a terrible opportunity of silence, for at first nobody talked.  A crab of brobdignagian proportions engrossed the seniors.  Bessie and the younger ones had roast lamb without being asked what they would take, and Bessie, all drawbacks notwithstanding, found herself capable of eating her dinner.  The stillness was intense for a few minutes.  Bessie glanced at one or two of the intent faces preparing crab with a close devotion to the process that assured satisfaction in the result, and then she caught Lady Latimer’s eye.  They both smiled, and suddenly the talk broke out all round; my lady beginning to inquire of the rector concerning young Musgrave of Brook, whether he knew him.  Bessie listened with breathless interest to this mention of her dear comrade.

“Yes, I know him, in a way—­a clever youth, ambitious of a college education,” said Mr. Wiley.  “I have tried my best to dissuade him, but his mind is bent on rising in the world.  Like little Christie, the wheelwright’s son, who must be an artist.”

“Why discourage young Musgrave?  I heard from his father a few days ago that he had won a scholarship at Hampton worth fifty pounds a year, tenable for three years.”

“That is news, indeed!  Moxon has coached him well:  I sent him to poor Moxon.  He wanted to read with me, but—­you understand—­I could not exactly receive him while Lord Rafferty and Mr. Duffer are in my house.  So I sent him to poor Moxon, who is glad of a pupil when he can get one.”

“I wish Mr. Moxon better preferment.  As for young Musgrave, he must have talent.  I was driving through Brook yesterday, and I called at the manor-house.  The mother is a modest person of much natural dignity.  The son was out.  I left a message that I should be glad to see him, and do something for him, if he would walk over to Fairfield.”

“He will not come, I warrant,” exclaimed Mr. Wiley.  “He is a radical fellow, and would say, as soon as look at you, that he had no wish to be encumbered with patronage.”

“He would not say so to Lady Latimer,” cried Bessie Fairfax.  Her voice rang clear as a bell, and quite startled the composed, refined atmosphere.  Everybody looked at her with a smile.  My lady exchanged a glance with her niece.

“Then young Musgrave is a friend of yours?” she said, addressing her little guest.

“We are cousins,” was Bessie’s unhesitating reply.

“I was not aware of it,” remarked her grandfather drily.