Neil was disgusted, and thought the whole a most undignified proceeding, and wondered what his mother and Blanche would say could they see it, and if, after all, he had not made a mistake in coming to Stoneleigh instead of going with them.  He changed his mind, however, when, after the dishwashing was over, and the aprons discarded, and the Irish brogue and Yankee dialect dropped, he was alone a moment with Bessie, who came shyly up to him, and laying her hand, red with dishwater, on his arm, said to him, softly: 

“Are you sick, that you seem so sober?”

“No,” he replied, taking her hand in his, and drawing her closely to him, with his arm around her, “I am not sick, but I cannot enjoy myself—­in just the way—­Trevellian and Jerrold do.  I think them rather too free and easy for strangers, and quite too familiar with you.  Don’t let them make a fool of you.”

There was something very pathetic and pleading in his voice, and it went to Bessie’s heart, and when he took her face between his two hands and kissed her lips, she kissed him back again, and then withdrew from him just as Jack and Grey entered the room.  They had been out for a little walk after dinner, and had returned, reporting the weather beastly, as Jack Trevellian expressed it.

“But it is jolly here,” Grey said, rubbing his hands, and holding them to the bright fire.  “Just the night for whist.  What do you say?” he continued, turning to Bessie, who, having no objection to the game as she knew they would play it, assented readily, and the round table was brought out and the chairs arranged for the four.

Then arose the question: 

“With whom should Bessie play?”

“Naturally with me, as I am the eldest and the last arrival,” Jack said, while Grey rejoined, laughingly: 

“I don’t know about that.  I think we will draw cuts for her; the longest wins,” and he proceeded to arrange three slips of paper in his hand.

“Be fair, now.  I can’t trust you where a lady is concerned,” Jack replied, while Neil maintained a dignified silence, and, when told to draw first, drew, and lost.

“Your turn next, Trevellian.  Hurry up; faint heart never won fair lady.  Suppose you try that one,” Grey said, indicating, with his finger, one of the two remaining slips.

“I shall not do it; there is some trick about it.  You have fixed them.  I shall take this,” Jack said, and he did, and lost.

“I have won; the lady is mine,” Grey cried, exultingly, as he held up the longest slip of paper.

Then, leading the blushing Bessie to her chair, he took his seat opposite her, and continued;

“Now I know you English are never happy unless you play for something, and as none of us, I hope, would play for money, suppose we try for that knot of plaid ribbon at Miss Bessie’s throat.  I think it exceedingly pretty.”

There was a gleam of triumph in the glance which Bessie flashed upon Neil, for she had not quite forgiven him his criticisms upon the ribbon, which both Grey and Jack seemed to admire, and which she consented to give to the victor.