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A friend saw
her there flirting with and fleecing an Italian count, who has quite
cut out that poodle of a Hardy."
"Oh, Neil! oh, mother!" Bessie cried, and the look about her mouth, of
which Neil had spoken, was pitiable to see, as the lips quivered and the
great tears sprang to her eyes and stood on her long lashes. "Fleecing
an Italian count!" she whispered. "If mother were to send us money now,
I do not believe I would touch it."
Then she read on:
"You are sure to like Grey Jerrold, and if you do not fall in love
with him I shall be surprised. He, of course, will surrender to you
at once, and he is worthy of you. I am to make some stupid calls
with my mother and Blanche so good-by till Tuesday night. I only
live till then.
"Your loving cousin,
"NEIL."
For some time after finishing Neil's letter Bessie staid by the window,
very still and thoughtful, with a half-pleased, half-troubled look in
her young face. She was thinking of Neil's projected visit, and planning
how she could make him comfortable, and his friend.


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