made him shy and awkward."

But he had been able to satisfy his wife without much difficulty. All
their married life there had never been a shadow of a doubt between
them; her calm, reasonable judgment had wholly approved her husband's
conduct on all occasions; whatever he did or said had been right in her
eyes, and she had brought up her daughters to think the same.

"Well, do you know, Bessie," he said playfully, "I have more reasons
than one for wishing you to go to The Grange? I have taken a fancy to
Miss Sefton, and I want her mother to be acquainted with my daughter;
and I think it will be good for you to extend your knowledge of the
world. You girls are tied too much to your mother's apron-strings, and
you must learn to do without her sometimes."

This was all very well, but though Bessie smilingly accepted this
explanation of her father's motives in permitting her to go to Oatlands,
she was clever enough to know that more lay behind.

Dr. Lambert had long ago forgiven the injury that had been done to him.
His nature was a generous one; good had come out of evil, and he was
tolerant enough to feel a kindly interest in Mrs. Sefton as an old
friend. It is true she had created her own troubles, but in spite of
that he could be sorry for her. Like a foolish woman she had built her
life's hopes upon a shifting, sandy foundation; she had looked on the
outward appearance, and a fair exterior had blinded her to the
hollowness beneath. The result was bitterness and disappointment.

"I should like her to see our Bessie," he had said to his wife. "Bessie
is just like a sunbeam; she will do her good, and even if things are
different from what she sees at home, it will do her no harm to know how
other people live. Our girls are good girls, but I do not want them to
live like nuns behind a grating; let them go out into the world a
little, and enlarge their minds. If it were Christine, I might hesitate
before such an experiment, but I have perfect confidence in Bessie."

And his wife's answer to this had been:

"I am quite sure you are right, Herbert, and I am perfectly willing to
let Bessie visit your old friend." And so the matter ended. The doctor
got his way as usual, simply by wishing for it.

The drive was a long one, but it seemed short to Bessie, and she was
quite sorry when it was over.

"Thank you, father dear, it has been such a treat," she said, with a
loving little squeeze of his arm; and then she ran in t