She returned Harry
Musgrave his letter, with a polite warning that such a correspondence
with a girl at school was silly and not to be thought of. Harry blushed
a little, felt foolish, and put the document into the fire. Madame made
him confess to himself that he had gone to Caen as much for bravado as
for love of Bessie. Bessie never knew of the letter, but she cherished
her pretty romance in her heart, and when she was melancholy she thought
of the garden at Brook, and of the beeches by the stream where they had
sat and told their secrets on their farewell afternoon; and in her
imagination her dear Harry was a perfect friend and lover.

* * * * *

That episode passed out of date. Bessie gave her mind to improvement.
Discovery was made that she had a sweet singing voice, and, late in the
day as it seemed to begin, she undertook to learn the piano, on the plea
that it would be useful if she could only play enough to accompany
herself in a song. She had her dancing-lessons, her drawing-lessons, and
as much study of grammars, dictionaries, histories, geographies, and
sciences-made-easy as was good for her, and every day showed her more
and more what a dunce she was. Madame, however, treated her as a girl
who had _des moyens_, and she was encouraged to believe that when she
had done with school she would make as creditable a figure in the world
as most of her contemporaries.

How far off her _debut_ might be no one had yet inquired. Since her late
experiences there was little certainty in Bessie's expectations of going
to Beechhurst for the long vacation which began in July. And it was
salutary that she entertained a doubt, for it mitigated disappointment
when it came. About a fortnight before the breaking up madame sent for
her one evening in to the _salon_, and with much consideration informed
her that it was arranged she should go with her to Bayeux and to the
sea, instead of going to England. Bessie had acquired the art of
controlling her feelings, and she accepted the fiat in silence. But she
felt a throb of vindictive rage against her grandfather, and said in her
heart that to live in a world where such men were masters, women ought
to be made of machinery. She refused to write to him, but she wrote home
to Beechhurst, and asked if any of them were coming to see her. But the
loving joint reply of her father and mother was that they thought it
better not.

Madame Fournier was indulge