their departure? They recognized, then, that she was not the little
gypsy they had hailed her. It did not enter into her imagination that
they had recognized also the true Fairfax face under her dishevelled
holiday locks, though she was persuaded that the one who had asked her
name was her wicked grandfather: that her grandfather was a wicked man
Bessie had quite made up her mind. Mr. John Short admired her behavior.
It did not chafe his dignity or alarm him for the peace of his future
life. But Mr. Fairfax was not a man of humor; he saw no fun whatever in
his prospects with that intrepid child, who had evidently inherited not
the Fairfax face only, but the warm Fairfax temper.

"Do you suppose that she guessed who we are?" he asked his man of law.

"Yes, but she did not add to that the probability that we knew that she
guessed it, though she looks quick enough."

Mr. Fairfax was not flattered: "I don't love a quick woman. A quick
woman is always self-willed and wanting in feminine sweetness."

"There was never a Fairfax yet, man or woman, of mean understanding,"
said the lawyer. "Since the little girl has the family features, the
chances are that she has the family brains, and no lack of wit and
spirit."

Mr. Fairfax groaned. He held the not uncommon opinion that wit and
spirit endanger a man's peace and rule in a house. And yet in the case
of his son Laurence's Xantippe he had evidence enough that nothing in
nature is so discordant and intractable as a fool. Then he fell into a
silence, and turned his horse off the highway upon the margin of sward
at one side of it. Mr. John Short took the other; and so Bessie and the