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Jack hardly knew why he was taking to Bessie of little frolicsome
Flossie Meredith, the Irish lassie, who was not in the least like Bessie
McPherson, except that she was sweet, and loving, and true, and said
what she thought, and would have darned a coat or scrubbed the floor, if
necessary. He only knew that he liked sitting by Bessie and that if he
sat he must talk, and so he kept on and only arose to go when he heard
the rattling of tea-cups outside and guessed that Mrs. Buncher might be
preparing to bring up luncheon.
About half-past four that afternoon Mrs. Buncher was amazed to see a
smart carriage, with handsome horses and servants in livery, drive up
before her door and still more amazed to see her lodgers take their
seats in it, Bessie and her father, side by side, and Jack Trevellian
opposite them, with his back to the driver. It was a glorious June
afternoon, and the park was, if possible, gayer and more crowed than on
the previous day. The excitement incident upon the passing of the
princess had subsided, when the carriage turned in at the Marble Arch
and joined the moving throng, which Jack scarcely noticed, so absorbed
was he in watching Bessie's face as it sparkled and shone with eager
joy and excitement.
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