“Yes.  I have succeeded to her rooms, to her books.  My grandfather says I remind him of her.”

“Dorothy Fairfax never forgave Lady Latimer.  They had been familiar friends, and there was a double separation.  Oh, it is quite a romance!  My aunt, Lady Angleby, could tell you all about it, for she was quite one with them at Abbotsmead and Hartwell in those days; indeed, the intimacy has never been interrupted.  And you know Lady Latimer—­you admire her?”

“I used to admire her enthusiastically.  I should like to see her again.”

After this there was silence until the drive ended at Hartwell.  Bessie was meditating on the glimpse she had got into the pathetic past of her grandfather’s life, and Mr. Cecil Burleigh and his sister were meditating upon her.

Hartwell was a modest brick house within a garden skirting the road.  It had a retired air, as of a poor gentleman’s house whose slender fortunes limit his tastes:  Mr. Oliver Smith’s fortunes were very slender, and he shared them with two maiden sisters.  The shrubs were well grown and the grass was well kept, but there was no show of the gorgeous scentless flowers which make the gardens of the wealthy so gay and splendid in summer.  Ivy clothed the walls, and old-fashioned flowers bloomed all the year round in the borders, but it was not a very cheerful garden in the afternoon.

Two elderly ladies were pacing the lawn arm-in-arm, with straw hats tilted over their noses, when the Abbotsmead carriage stopped at the gate.  They stood an instant to see whose it was, and then hurried forward to welcome their visitors.

“This is very kind, Mr. Cecil, very kind, Miss Mary; but you always are kind in remembering old friends,” said the elder, Miss Juliana, and then was silent, gazing at Bessie.

“This is Miss Fairfax,” said Mr. Cecil Burleigh.  “Lady Latimer has no doubt named her in her letters.”

“Ah! yes, yes—­what am I dreaming about?  Charlotte,” turning to her sister, “who is she like?”

“She is like poor Dorothy,” was the answer in a tremulous, solemn voice.  “What will Oliver say?”

“How long is it since Lady Latimer saw you, my dear?” asked Miss Juliana.

“Three years.  I have not been home to the Forest since I left it to go to school in France.”

“Ah!  Then that accounts for our sister not having mentioned to us your wonderful resemblance to your great-aunt, Dorothy Fairfax.  Three years alter and refine a child’s chubby face into a young woman’s face.”

Miss Juliana seemed to be thrown into irretrievable confusion by Bessie’s apparition and her own memory.  She was quite silent as she led the way to the house, walking between Mr. Cecil Burleigh and his sister.  Miss Charlotte walked behind with Bessie, and remarked that she was pleased to have a link of acquaintance with her already by means of Lady Latimer.  Bessie asked whether Lady Latimer was likely soon to come into Woldshire.