"Why, Bessie," her father said, "what is the matter? I thought you
wanted to drive."
"I do, I do," she sobbed; then, with a quick, impatient movement she
dashed the tears from her eyes which shone like stars as she lifted them
bravely to Jack Trevellian and said, with a tinge of pride in her lone:
"I should enjoy the drive more than anything else in the world, and it
was kind in you to ask us; but, Mr. Trevellian, you don't know what it
would be to you to be seen there with father and me--he in his darned
coat and I in this gown, the best I have here, or anywhere, for summer;
and then, my hat; the ribbons are all faded and poor, just as we are,
dear father and I;" and as she talked she stepped to her father's side
and wound her arms around his neck.
There was a world of pathos in the low, sweet voice which said so sadly,
"dear father and I," and it moved Jack with a strange power, bringing a
moisture to his eyes where tears had not been in years.
Mastering his weakness Jack burst into a merry laugh which was good to
hear, as he said:
"Is it the gown, and the hat, and the old darned coat? And do you think
I care for trifles like these? I tell you honestly, I would rather take
your linen gown, to drive this afternoon, with you in it, than the most
elegant dress in London and you out of it.
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