Bessie laughed and blushed. "You never expected perfection in me, nor too much docility," she said. The doctor patted her hand, and told her she was good enough for human nature's daily companionship. Then he began to give her news of their neighbors. "It falls out fortunately that it is holiday-time. Young Christie is here: you know him? He told us how he had met you at some grand house in the winter, where he went to paint a picture: the lady had too little expression to please him, and he was not satisfied with his work. She was, fortunately, and her husband too, for he had a hundred pounds for the picture--like coining money his father says. He is very good to the old people, and makes them share his prosperity--a most excellent son." Bessie listened for another name of an excellent son. It came. "And Harry Musgrave is at Brook for a whiff of country air. That young man works and plays very hard: he must take heed not to overdo it." "Then I shall see all my friends while I am in the Forest," said Bessie, very glad. "Yes, and as pleased they will be to see you. Mother, Bessie might walk to Brook with me before tea. They will be uncommonly gratified, and she will get over to us many another day," Mr. Carnegie proposed. "Yes, Thomas, if it will not overtire her." "Oh, nothing overtires me," said Bessie. "Let us go by Great-Ash Ford." Before they started the doctor had a word or two with his wife alone. He wanted to hear what she had made out from dear Bessie herself respecting that grand gentleman, the member of Parliament, who by Lady Latimer's account was her suitor some time ago and still. "I am puzzled, Thomas, and that is the truth--girls are so deep," Mrs. Carnegie said. "Too deep sometimes for their own comprehension--eh? At any rate, she is not moping and pining. She is as fresh as a rose, and her health and spirits are all right. I don't remember when I have felt so thankful as at the sight of her bonny face to-day." CHAPTER XXXVIII. _SUNDAY EVENING AT BROOK._