tly accused and convicted her of that intention
in it--in her private thoughts, that is. My lady herself was magnificent
in purple satin, and little Dora Meadows had put on her finest raiment;
but Bessie, with her wealth of fair hair and incomparable beauty of
coloring, still glowed the most; and she glowed with more than her
natural rose when Lady Latimer, after looking her up and down from head
to foot with extreme deliberation, turned away with a scorny face.
Bessie's eyes sparkled, and Mr. Logger, who saw all and saw nothing,
perceived that she could look scorny too.

Mr. Cecil Burleigh was pacing to and fro the conservatory into which a
glass door opened from the drawing-room. His hands were clasped behind
him, and his head was bent down as if he were in a profoundly cogitative
mood. "I am afraid Burleigh is rather out of sorts--the effect of
overstrain, the curse of our time," said Mr. Logger sententiously. Mr.
Logger himself was admirably preserved.

"He is looking remarkably well, on the contrary," said Lady Latimer. My
lady was certainly not in her most beneficent humor. Dora darted an
alarmed glance at Bessie, and at that moment Mr. Musgrave was announced.

Bessie blushed him a sweet welcome, and said, perhaps unnecessarily, "I
am so glad you have come!" and Harry expressed his thanks with kind eyes
and a very cordial shake of the hand: they appeared quite confidentially
intimate, those young people. Lady Latimer stood looking on like a
picture of dignity, and when Mr. Cecil Burleigh entered from the
conservatory she introduced the two young men in her stateliest manner.
Bessie was beginning now to understand what all this meant. Throughout
the dinner my lady never relaxed. She was formally courteous,
elaborately gracious, but _grande dame_ from her shoe-tie to the
top-knot of her cap.

Those who knew her well were ill at ease, but Harry Musgrave dined in
undisturbed, complacent comfort. He had known dons at Oxford, and placed
Lady Latimer in the donnish caste: that was all. He thought she had been
a more charming woman. The conversation was interrogatory, and chiefly
addressed to himself, and he had plenty to say and a pleasant way of
saying it, but except for Bessie's dear bright face opposite the
atmosphere would have been quite freezing. When the ladies withdrew, Mr.
Logger almost immediately followed, and then Mr. Cecil Burleigh was
himself again. He unbent to this athletic young man, whose Oxford
dou