“We have not heard that she has any present intention of visiting us.  Her visits are few and far between,” was the formal reply.

“I wish she would.  When I was a little girl she was my ideal of all that is grand, gracious, and lovely,” said Bessie.

Bessie’s little outbreak had done her good, had set her tongue at liberty.  Her self-consciousness was growing less obtrusive.  Mr. Cecil Burleigh explained to her the legal process of an election for a member of Parliament, and Miss Burleigh sat by in satisfied silence, observing the quick intelligence of her face and the flattered interest in her brother’s.  At the park gates, Mr. Fairfax, returning from a visit to one of his farmsteads where building was in progress, met the carriage and got in.  His first question was what Mr. Oliver Smith had said about the coming election, and whether he would be in Norminster the following day.

The news about Buller troubled him no little, to judge by his countenance, but he did not say much beyond an exclamation that they would carry the contest through, let it cost what it might.  “We have been looking forward to this contest ever since Bradley was returned five years ago; we will not be so faint-hearted as to yield without a battle.  If we are defeated again, we may count Norminster lost to the Conservative interest.”

“Oh, don’t talk of defeat!  We shall be far more likely to win if we refuse to contemplate the possibility of defeat,” cried Bessie with girlish vivacity.

Mr. Cecil Burleigh laughed and said, “Miss Fairfax is right.  She will wear my colors and I will adopt her logic, and, ostrich-like, refuse to see the perils that threaten me.”

“No, no,” remonstrated Bessie casting off her shy reserve under encouragement.  “So far from hiding your face, you must make it familiar in every street in Norminster.  You must seek if you would find, and ask if you would have.  I would.  I should hate to be beaten by my own neglect, worse than by my rival.”

Mr. Fairfax was electrified at this brusque assertion of her sentiments by his granddaughter.  Her audacity seemed at least equal to her shyness.  “Very good advice, Elizabeth; make him follow it,” said he dryly.

“We will give him no rest when we have him at Brentwood,” added Miss Burleigh.  “But though he is so cool about it, I believe he is dreadfully in earnest.  Are you not, Cecil?”

“I will not be beaten by my own neglect,” was his rejoinder, with a glance at Bessie, blushing beautifully.

They did not relapse into constraint any more that day.  There was no addition to the company at dinner, and the evening being genially warm, they enjoyed it in the garden.  Mr. Cecil Burleigh and Miss Fairfax even strolled as far as the ruins in the park, and on the way he enlightened her respecting some of his opinions, tastes, and prejudices.  She heard him attentively, and found him very instructive.