“No—­yes.  Jack.  You are as good—­yes, better than most of the fellows in our set, but—­” He hesitated, and Jack rejoined: 

“But what?  Go on.”

“By Jove, I will speak out!” Neil continued, going close to his cousin.  “You are a man of the world, accustomed to all sorts of girls—­girls who laugh and flirt and let you make soft speeches to them and never think of you again because they know you mean nothing.  But Bessie is not that kind; she is innocent and pure as a baby, and believes all you say, and—­and—­by George, Jack, if you harm a hair of her head I’ll beat you into a pomace!  You understand?”

“Yes, I rather think I do,” Jack answered, with a smile; “and, Neil, you are more of a man than I supposed; upon my soul you are; but never fear, I will not flirt with Bessie, I will not make love to her, unless—­I fall in love myself, in which case I cannot promise; but don’t distress yourself.  The Welsh rose is as safe with me as with you.  Good-morning!” and so saying, he walked off in the direction of Abingdon road, while Neil rather unwillingly bought his ticket and went through the narrow way and down the stairs to wait for the incoming train.

CHAPTER VIII.

JACK AND BESSIE.

Mrs. Buncher had made an effort to brighten up her dingy parlor since her new lodgers took possession of it.  She had washed the windows and put up clean muslin curtains, and a white towel on the small table, which was further ornamented by a bowl of lovely roses, which filled the room with perfume and seemed to harmonize so perfectly with the fair young girl sitting near the table and darning what would soon have been a hole in the elbow of her father’s coat.  She had discovered it that morning, and as soon as Neil left her sat down to her task, with her pretty white apron partially covering her linen dress and greatly improving her appearance.  Bessie always wore aprons in the morning at home, though Neil had more than once objected to it, as he said such things belonged to housemaids and not to ladies.

“And I am the housemaid; I wash the dishes and lay the cloth and sweep and dust, and an apron keeps my dress clean,” Bessie had answered him, laughingly, and when she came to London she brought her best apron with her, and after Neil was gone put it on and commenced her task of darning.

“Oh, if you could have a new coat; this is so worn and threadbare,” she said to her father, who was sitting near her in his dressing-gown.  “I wish Neil had sent you a coat instead of that dress to me.  I do wish we were rich!  I would buy a lot of things, but first of all I would have a drive in the park.  Wasn’t it grand!  I wish Neil would take us, though perhaps he has not the money of his own to pay for the carriage.”