Our Bessie Part 10

"Oh, no, thank you!" returned Bessie, in such an alarmed voice that Miss Sefton laughed; and then she continued, in rather a shamefaced manner: "You see I am not like you, Miss Sefton. I have not been used to luxuries and being waited on; we are plain people, and wait on ourselves."

"Just as you like," was the indifferent answer. "Brandon is the comfort of my life, though she is such a cross old thing. Now, Bessie--I am going to call you Bessie, and I beg you to lay aside the stiff Miss Sefton--you must tell me if I can lend you anything, or help you in any way. And you are not to trouble about making yourself smart, for we have no one coming to dinner to-day, and I shall only put on an old dress. We are in the country now, and I don't mean to waste my fine London gowns on Richard, who calls every material dimity, and never knows whether one is dressed in velvet or sackcloth."

Bessie smiled, and then asked if she might use any of the flowers on her toilet-table.

"My dear child, just look behind you," was the amused answer; and Bessie saw a breast-knot of lovely crimson roses on the writing-table. "Those are for your use to-night, but if you will let me know every morning what color you want for the evening, I will tell Brandon."

As Bessie was unpacking, she heard a faint scratching at her door, and on opening it found, to her great surprise, Mac, the deerhound, sitting on his haunches, with a very pleading look in his beautiful brown eyes.

"You may come in if you like, old fellow," she said, wondering at his sudden friends.h.i.+p for a stranger; and, sure enough, the hound walked in and stretched himself under the writing-table, with his nose between his paws, quietly observant of every movement.

When Bessie had finished her unpacking, she proceeded to brush out her bright, brown hair, and arrange it in her usual simple fas.h.i.+on. Then she put on the dress of cream-colored nun's veiling, which was cut square and trimmed with her mother's lace; and when she had clasped the pearls round her neck, and had pinned on her roses, she felt she had never been so well dressed in her life; and, indeed, the girl's freshness and sweet expression made her very pleasant to look upon.

Bessie was sitting at the window thinking of Hatty when Edna entered, looking like a young princess to her dazzled eyes. The old gown proved to be a delicate blue silk, and was trimmed in a costly fas.h.i.+on, and she wore at her throat a locket with a diamond star. As she came sweeping into the room, with her long train and fair coronet of hair, she looked so graceful and so handsome that Bessie uttered an admiring exclamation.

"Oh, don't look at me!" observed Edna rather pettishly. "I have told Brandon I really must discard this gown; it is getting too bad even for quiet evenings."

"I think it lovely," returned Bessie, much surprised at this remark. "I thought it was quite new."

"Oh, no; it is nearly a year old, quite a patriarch in gowns; and, besides, I am getting so tired of blue. Mamma likes me best in white, and I agree with her; but you look very nice, Bessie, more like a crimson-tipped Daisy than ever. You remind me so of a daisy--a humble little modest, bright-eyed thing."

"Thank you, Miss Sefton," returned Bessie, blus.h.i.+ng at such an unexpected compliment. "I think I must tell Hatty that."

"Hatty! Oh, you mean the little pale-faced sister with the clever eyes. Now, what did I say to you? That I preferred Edna to Miss Sefton.

Oh, there goes the second gong, and Richard has only just come in. Mamma will be so vexed at his unpunctuality. Why, I declare if Mac has not taken up his quarters under your table. I suppose he approves of Miss Daisy as much as I do."

Edna chatted after this fas.h.i.+on as she tripped down the oak staircase, while Bessie followed her more slowly. They found Mrs. Sefton in a somewhat ruffled mood. She looked handsomer than ever in her gray silk dress; her hands were blazing with diamond rings, her dark hair was still unmixed with gray, and hardly needed the lace cap that covered it.

"Richard has only just come in, mamma; need we wait for him?"

"It is our duty to wait for the master of the house, Edna, however much we are inconvenienced by the delay." And Mrs. Sefton fanned herself with a dissatisfied expression. "Your brother never thinks of our comfort, as long as he is engrossed with his own occupations. I must apologize to you, Miss Lambert, for our unpunctuality. I am sure, after such a journey, you must need your dinner."

"I am not at all hungry, thank you," replied Bessie, whose appet.i.te was not stimulated by her hostess' aggrieved remarks. She sat literally on thorns during the next five minutes, while Mrs. Sefton fanned herself, and Edna walked up and down the room, humming s.n.a.t.c.hes of songs, and then breaking off into a sarcastic observation on the length of Richard's toilet.

"I shall expect great results," she was just saying, as the door opened, and a tall, broad-shouldered young man advanced rather awkwardly into the room.

"I am afraid I am late again, mother," he began apologetically; but Mrs.

Sefton apparently took no notice of this remark, except by a slight shrug of her shoulders.

"We have been waiting half an hour," broke in Edna, with a pout. "You get worse and worse, Richard. Now, will you take in my friend, Miss Lambert? and mamma and I will follow."

Bessie rose at once, as Mr. Sefton offered his arm, but beyond a stiff bow he took no further notice of her. His face wore a moody expression as they seated themselves at the table. His reception had evidently damped him.

Bessie glanced at him. Richard Sefton was certainly not handsome; his features were rather heavily molded; he had a reddish mustache that hid his mouth, and closely cropped hair of the same color. His evening dress set rather awkwardly on him, and he had looked far better in his tweed coat and knickerbockers. Bessie was obliged to confess that Edna had been right in her description; there was something clownish about his appearance, and yet he looked a gentleman.

"Have you nothing to tell us, Richard?" asked Mrs. Sefton sharply, when the silence had lasted long enough.

"Nothing that will interest you," he replied, rather gloomily; and Bessie noticed that his voice was not unpleasant. "I have been with Malcolmson all the afternoon." And he looked steadily at Mrs. Sefton as he spoke.

A slight flush crossed her face, but she evidently did not trust herself to answer.

"I know our opinions differ about him," he continued, as though forcing himself to speak; "but for my part I think him a clear-headed, reliable fellow. He has done my business well, and has relieved me of a great deal of responsibility."

"I hope you will not have cause to repent your rashness, Richard," was the severe answer; but Edna, who was watching her mother's countenance with some anxiety, interfered in an airy fas.h.i.+on:

"Oh, pray don't begin to talk business, Richard, or you will make mamma's head ache. You know she can't bear to hear Malcolmson's name mentioned. All this is not very amusing for Miss Lambert. Can't you find something interesting to suit a young lady?"

But if Edna hoped to pose as a peacemaker, she failed signally, for a sullen look came to her brother's face, and, with the exception of a slight attention to his guest's wants, and a few remarks about her journey and the weather, Richard made no further attempt to be agreeable.

CHAPTER IX.

RICHARD SEFTON.

"Richard is a perfect bear!" exclaimed Edna angrily, as she threw herself into one of the wicker seats on the lawn. It was a lovely evening; the sun was just setting, and she had invited Bessie to take a stroll round the garden.

"The dews are very heavy," remonstrated her friend. "I think we had better keep to the gravel paths." And then Edna had got up from her seat, grumbling as she did so, and had again reiterated her opinion that Richard was a bear.

"I think something must have put him out," returned Bessie, who was always prompt in defence of the absent. "He did not look quite happy."

"That was because mamma was so vexed about his unpunctuality, and about Malcolmson. Richard hates to vex her, and when she looks at him like that he always becomes gloomy and morose. I have known him silent for days, when they have fallen out about something. I am taking you behind the scenes, Bessie, but all our friends know that mamma and Richard do not agree. You see, mamma is very clever, and she likes managing, and Richard has a will of his own; he is very tenacious of his own opinions, and when he has got an idea into his head he can be as stubborn as a mule."

"Don't you think a man has a right to his own opinion, Edna?"

Edna pursed up her lips.

"A man like Neville, perhaps, who is clever and knows the world; but Richard is a perfect child in some things. He ought to be reasonable, and allow mamma to have her way. Now, she dislikes Malcolmson--she does not believe in him; and Richard, as you hear, swears by him."

"Who is Mr. Malcolmson, if I may venture to ask?"

"Oh, he is an ugly, scrubby little Scotchman whom Richard means to take as a sort of bailiff, or overseer, or something; I don't understand what."

"Your brother farms himself, does he not?"

"Yes, he has a large farm; and then there is the brewery, a few miles off, and he wants Malcolmson for that. Mamma is disgusted, because she wanted Richard to take a _protege_ of her own--such an interesting young fellow, and so poor, with a widowed mother and two or three young sisters; and my lord won't look at him."

"Perhaps he has his reasons for declining him."

"No, it is just his obstinacy; he will not allow mamma to interfere in his business. He thinks she ought to keep to her own department, and leave him to manage his own concerns; but mamma can't see it; she has been used to rule, and she is always offended when he refuses to take her advice."

"What a pity!" observed Bessie. "I think people in one house ought to be of one mind."

"My dear Daisy, your golden rule won't hold at The Grange. No one thinks alike in this house; mamma and I dote on each other, but we do not always agree; she makes me cry my eyes out sometimes. And as for Neville, as I told you, we have not an idea in common. I think perfect agreement must be rather monotonous and deadening. I am sure if Neville were to say to me, 'My dear Edna, you are always right, and I agree with you in everything,' I should be ready to box his ears. It is much more amusing to quarrel half a dozen times a day, and make it up again. Oh, I do dearly love to provoke Neville; he looks so deliciously bored and grave."

Bessie was at a loss how to answer this extraordinary statement, but Edna gave her no time to collect her ideas.