"
"Yes," Bessie answered, a little proud of the relationship, "Neil is my
cousin, or rather the cousin of my father, who is Mr. Archibald
McPherson, from Bangor, Wales."
She meant to show her companion how respectable she was, even if her
dress, which she was sure he had inspected critically, was poor and out
of date, and she was not prepared for his sudden start, as he repeated:
"Mr. Archibald McPherson, of Bangor! Then you are the daughter of
that--" he checked himself, and added, "I have met your mother at Monte
Carlo," and he drew back a step or two, as if he feared that something
of the mother's character might have communicated itself to the
daughter. And Bessie saw the movement, and the change of expression on
his face, and her cheeks were scarlet with shame, but she lifted her
clear blue eyes fearlessly to his, and said:
"Yes, mother is a monomaniac on the subject of play. It is a species of
insanity, I think."
Her voice shook a little, and about her mouth there settled the
grieved, sorry look which touched the stranger at once, and coming close
to her again, he said:
"Your mother is a very beautiful woman.
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