Here he stopped, struck by something in Bessie’s face which seemed to brighten and beautify it until it shone like the face of some pure saint to whom the gate of Paradise has just been opened.  Then it occurred to Neil suddenly that Bessie was not a child.  She was a girl of fifteen and more, with an experience which made her older than her years; and, selfish as he was, and much as he would like to have her look at him always as she was looking now, he felt that he must not encourage it.  He had told her he should never marry Blanche, but in his heart he thought it possible, for, as there was no money in his own family, and he could not exist without it, he must marry money and forget the sweet face and soft blue eyes which moved him with a strange power and made him long to fold Bessie in his arms, and, young as she was, claim her as something more than a cousin.  But, always politic and cautious, he restrained himself, and said to her instead: 

“I do not believe I shall ever marry anybody, certainly not for many years, and you and I will be the best of friends always, brother and sister, which is better than cousins.  Do you consent?”

“Yes,” Bessie answered, falteringly, not quite understanding him, or knowing whether she should like the brother and sister arrangement as well as the cousin.

Then they talked together of what Bessie had seen in the park, and she told him all Jack Trevellian had said, and how kind he was, and how much she liked him, until Neil felt horribly jealous of his cousin, and wished he had staid in Ireland while Bessie was in London.

“Oh, it must be so fine to drive in a handsome carriage with the crowd.  I wish I could try it.  Does it cost so very much?” she asked, and Neil detested himself because he did not at once offer to take her and her father for the coveted drive.

“Could he do it?” he asked himself many times, deciding finally that he could not face his fashionable friends, and, more than all, his mother and Blanche, with these country cousins—­Archie, in his threadbare coat, and Bessie, in her linen gown, with the big puffs at the top of the sleeves.

Had she been less beautiful he might venture it, but everybody would look at that face and turn to look again, and wonder who she was, and question him about her.

No, he couldn’t do it, and so he went away at last, deciding to take the underground road to St. James Park, and meeting, as he was entering the station, Jack Trevellian coming out.

“Hallo, Hallo!” was said by each to the other, while both looked a little conscious, and Neil burst out, impulsively, “I say, Jack, what brings you over here?”

“The same which brought you, I dare say,” Jack replied.  “I am going to call upon your cousin.”

“The deuce you are!  I thought so,” Neil answered, in a tone of voice indicative of anything but pleasure.

“Have you any objections?” Jack asked, and Neil replied: