"The ribbon is mine, and I claim my own!" Grey said, with a ring in his
voice and a warmth in his manner which brought the hot blood to Bessie's
cheeks, as she took the knot from her throat and presented it to him,
blushing still more when he raised it to his lips and then pinned it
upon his sleeve.
"What a cad he is! I'd like to knock him down, if he were any one but
Grey," Neil thought, and pushing back his chair from the table he said
he had had enough of cards for one night. Whist was a stupid game
anyway, and he never had any luck.
Neil was very quiet the remainder of the evening, though he could not
altogether resist Grey, who was at his best, and kept them all in a roar
of laughter at his jokes and the stories he told of the genuine Yankees
whom he had seen in New England, and the Johnny Bulls he had encountered
in England, and whose peculiarities of voice and expression he imitated
perfectly. Then he recited poetry, comic and tragic and descriptive; and
was so entertaining and brilliant, and so very courteous and gentlemanly
in all he did and said, that Bessie was enraptured and showed it in her
speaking face, which Neil knew always told the truth, and when at last
he retired to his room he could not sleep, but lay awake, torn with
jealousy and love and doubt as to what he ought to do.
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