all our sails in both places.  No sneak about him, and though he seems more English than American from having lived with us so long, he would knock me down now if I were to say a word against his star spangled banner.  His father and mother are in Boston, and he has crossed, I don’t know how many times, mostly, I think, to see an old Aunt Hannah, whom he seems to worship, and whose photograph he actually kissed the day he got it at Eton.  Such an old fashioned woman, too, as she must be, judging from her dress and hair; but such a sweet, patient, sorry face, with an expression about the mouth like you when ‘la petite madame’ is under discussion.  I hear she is at Monte Carlo still.  A friend saw her there flirting with and fleecing an Italian count, who has quite cut out that poodle of a Hardy.”

“Oh, Neil! oh, mother!” Bessie cried, and the look about her mouth, of which Neil had spoken, was pitiable to see, as the lips quivered and the great tears sprang to her eyes and stood on her long lashes.  “Fleecing an Italian count!” she whispered.  “If mother were to send us money now, I do not believe I would touch it.”

Then she read on: 

“You are sure to like Grey Jerrold, and if you do not fall in love with him I shall be surprised.  He, of course, will surrender to you at once, and he is worthy of you.  I am to make some stupid calls with my mother and Blanche so good-by till Tuesday night.  I only live till then.

    “Your loving cousin,

    “NEIL.”

For some time after finishing Neil’s letter Bessie staid by the window, very still and thoughtful, with a half-pleased, half-troubled look in her young face.  She was thinking of Neil’s projected visit, and planning how she could make him comfortable, and his friend.

“I can dispense with a fire in my room, and the boots I was going to buy; these are not so very bad, though they do leak at times,” and she glanced down rather ruefully at the little shabby boots in which her feet were incased, and which she had worn so long.  “I hope Neil will not notice them, he is so fastidious about such things,” she said, with a sigh; and then her thoughts went back to the summer when she had visited London and met Jack Trevellian who had been so kind and done so much for her.

Her mother had been home several times since then, and had spoken of Jack as a noble fellow, with nothing small in his nature.

“But he is greatly changed from what he used to be,” she said.  “When I first knew him at Monte Carlo, he was almost as regular at the tables as I was myself, and a capital partner at cards; but now he never plays at all, and did not even go inside the Casino, notwithstanding I did my best to persuade him.  I think there must be some woman concerned in the change.  Well she is fortunate if she gets Jack Trevellian.  I wish Bessie, you had more tact, for I know he was interested in you.  He is worth forty Neil McPhersons.”