ably heard him speak of me."

"No," Bessie replied, with a decided shake of her head, which told
plainly that neither from Neil nor any one else had she ever heard of
Jack Trevellian, who felt a little chagrined that he, the man of
fashion, whose name was so familiar in all the higher circles of London,
should be wholly unknown to this girl from Wales.

Truly, she had much to learn. But she did not seem at all impressed now,
or embarrassed either, though she looked at him more closely and decided
that he resembled Neil, but was not nearly so good-looking, and that he
was awfully old.

"You know my cousin Blanche, of course," he said to her next. "You must
have seen her when you visited at Neil's father's."

"I saw her at Penrhyn Park when I was a child, but not since then until
this afternoon. I was never at Trevellian House," Bessie said, and with
the mental decision: "Poor relations who are outside the ring," Jack
Trevellian continued:

"She is not a beauty, though a great heiress. Rumor says Neil is engaged
to her."

"Neil engaged! No, he isn't. He would have told me; he tells me
everything; he is not engaged," Bessie said, quickly, while a keen sense
of pain thrilled every nerve as she thought what it would be to lose
Neil as he would be lost if he married the proud Blanche.

He was so much to her; something more than a brother, something less
than a lover, for she was too young to think of such an ending to her
friendship for him, and her heart beat rapidly and her lips quivered as
she arose on the instant to go.

"Come, father, I think we have staid long enough. You must be tired,"
she said to her father; then turning to Jack, who was thinking: "Is the
child in love with Neil? What a pity!" she said to him: "Thank you, Mr.
Trevellian, for telling me who the people were. It was very kind in you.
I will tell Neil I met you. Good-by," and she gave him her ungloved
hand, which, though small and plump and well formed, showed that it was
not a stranger to work.

Dishwashing, sweeping, dusting, bed making, and many other more menial
things it had done at intervals to save old Dorothy, the only female
domestic at Stoneleigh. But it was a very pretty hand for all that, and
Jack Trevellian felt a great desire to squeeze it as it lay in his broad
palm. But he did not, for something in Bessie's eyes forbade anything
like liberty with her, and he merely said:

"I was very glad to tell you. I wish I could do somethi