“Do you love him?” For a moment or two Bessy remained silent, striving to arrange her words so that they should contain no falsehood, and yet betray no truth. “Ah, I see you do,” continued Miss Holmes. “But of course you do. Why else did you accept him?” “I fancied that I did, as young ladies do sometimes fancy.” “And will you say that you do not, now?” Again Bessy was silent, and then her friend rose from her seat. “I see it all,” she said. “What a pity it was that you both had not some friend like me by you at the time! But perhaps it may not be too late.” I need not repeat at length all the protestations which upon this were poured forth with hot energy by poor Bessy. She endeavoured to explain how great had been the difficulty of her position. This Christmas visit had been arranged before that unhappy affair at Liverpool had occurred. Isabella’s visit had been partly one of business, it being necessary that certain money affairs should be arranged between her, her brother, and the Major. “I determined,” said Bessy, “not to let my feelings stand in the way; and hoped that things might settle down to their former friendly footing. I already fear that I have been wrong, but it will be ungenerous in you to punish me.” Then she went on to say that if anybody attempted to interfere with her, she should at once go away to her mother’s sister, who lived at Hexham, in Northumberland. Then came the dance, and the hearts of Kate and Patty Coverdale were at last happy. But here again poor Bessy was made to understand how terribly difficult was this experiment of entertaining on a footing of friendship a lover with whom she had quarrelled only a month or two before. That she must as a necessity become the partner of Godfrey Holmes she had already calculated, and so much she was prepared to endure. Her brothers would of course dance with the Coverdale girls, and her father would of course stand up with Isabella. There was no other possible arrangement, at any rate as a beginning. She had schooled herself, too, as to the way in which she would speak to him on the occasion, and how she would remain mistress of herself and of her thoughts. But when the time came the difficulty was almost too much for her. “You do not care much for dancing, if I remember?” said he. “Oh yes, I do. Not as Patty Coverdale does. It’s a passion with her. But then I am older than Patty Coverdale.” After that he was silent for a minute or two. “It seems so odd to me to be here again,” he said. It was odd;—she felt that it was odd. But he ought not to have said so. “Two years make a great difference. The boys have grown so much.” “Yes, and there are other things,” said he. “Bella was never here before; at least not with you.” “No. But I did not exactly mean that. All that would not make the place so strange. But your mother seems altered to me. She used to be almost like my own mother.”