Then she read on: 

“Strangers are always attracted by her, and through her we make so many pleasant acquaintances.  Indeed, she quite throws me into the shade, but I am not at all jealous.  I am satisfied to be known only as Bessie’s mother.  I am very proud of her, and hope some day to see her at least a countess.”

“Countess!  Fool!” muttered Miss Betsey, and read on: 

“The inclosed photograph is like her in features, but fails, I think, in expression, but I send it, as it will give you some idea of her as she is now.”

Here Miss Betsey stopped, and taking a card from the bit of tissue paper in which it was wrapped, gazed earnestly and with a feeling of intense yearning and bitter disappointment upon the beautiful face, whose great wide-open, blue eyes looked at her, just as they had looked at her on the sands at Aberystwyth.  The photographer’s art had succeeded admirably with Bessie, and made a most wonderful picture of childish innocence and beauty, besides bringing out about the mouth and into the eyes that patient, half sorry expression which spoke to Miss Betsey of loneliness and hunger far up in the fourth and fifth stories of fashionable hotels, where the little girl often ate her smuggled dinner of rolls and nuts and raisins, and whatever else her mother could convey into her pocket unobserved by those around her.

“Yes, she looks as if a big slice of plum pudding or mince pie would do her good!  Poor little thing, and I am not to have her,” Miss Betsey said, with a lump in her throat, as she continued reading: 

“You saw her once, I know, three years ago, at Aberystwyth, though she had no idea then who the funny woman was who asked her so many questions.  Why didn’t you make yourself known to us?  Archie would have been delighted to meet you.  He never saw you, I believe.  And why didn’t you speak to me when I went by as Bessie says I did?  Was Archie with me, I wonder? or, was it young Lord Hardy from Dublin, Archie’s best friend?  He was with us there, and sometimes walked with me when Archie was not inclined to go out.  He is very nice, and Archie is very fond of him, while to Bessie and me he is like a brother.”

Here Miss Betsey stopped again, and taking off her spectacles harangued the tortoise-shell cat, who was sitting on the rug and looking at her.

“Archie’s friend! her brother!  Humbug!  It does make me so mad to see a married woman with a young snipper-snapper of a fellow chasing after her, and using her husband as a cover.  Mark my words, the woman who does that is not a pure, good woman at heart, or in thought, though outwardly she may be sweet as sugar; and her husband—­

“Well, he is both weak and unmanly to allow it, and is looked upon with contempt.”

To all this Mrs. Tortoise-shell purred an assent, and the lady went on with the letter.