not speak to me for a week." And
so saying he pushed his chair away and walked to the window.

Mrs. Sefton did not answer her stepson. Most likely her conscience told
her that his reproach was a just one. She only glanced at Bessie's
grieved face and downcast eyes, and proposed to retire.

The drawing-room was empty when they entered it, and as Bessie noticed
Mrs. Sefton's wistful look round the room, she said timidly:

"May I go and talk to Edna?"

"No, my dear; far better not," was the reply. "Edna has a hot temper;
she takes after her poor father in that. We must give her time to cool.
I will go to her myself presently. She was very wrong to answer Richard
in that way, but he has so little tact."

Bessie did not trust herself to reply. She took her book to the window,
that her hostess might not find it incumbent on her to talk, and in a
short time Mrs. Sefton left the room. Richard entered it a moment later.

"Are you alone?" he asked, in some surprise. "I suppose my mother has
gone up to Edna?"

"Yes; she is uneasy about her. Shall I play to you a little, Mr. Sefton?
It is getting too dark to read." Bessie made this overture as a sort of
amends to Richard, and the friendly little act seemed to soothe him.

"You are very kind. I should like it of all things," he returned
gratefully. So Bessie sat down and played her simple tunes and sung her
little songs until the young man's perturbed spirits were calmed and
quieted by the pure tones of the girlish voice; and presently when she
paused for a minute, he said:

"It is awfully good of you to take all this trouble for me."

"Oh, no, it is not," replied Bessie, smiling. "I like singing; besides,
you are feeling dull this evening; your talk with your sister has upset
you."

"No one ever noticed before if I were dull or not," he replied, with a
sigh; "but I am afraid that sounds ungracious. I think we owe you an
apology, Miss Lambert, for airing our family disagreements in your
presence. I am more sorry than I can say that you should have been
subjected to this unpleasantness."

"Oh, never mind me," returned Bessie cheerfully. "I am only sorry for
all of you. I dare say Edna did not mean half she said; people say all
sorts of things when they are angry. I am afraid she is bitterly
disappointed. I have heard her say before how fond she is of watching
polo; but I dare say she will soon forget all about it."

"I cannot flatter myself with that belief. Edna does