"They were expecting Neil from Naples the day I left, or I should have
staid," he said, and then into Jack's eyes there crept a strange, hard
expression, and he wiped the perspiration from his forehead and lips, as
he said:
"Neil; yes. It was his place, not yours, or mine, but, oh, Grey, if I
might have seen her; if I could have held her dead hand but for a moment
and kissed her dear face--"
Here Jack stopped, for his voice was choked with sobs, and ere he knew
what he was doing, Grey said to him:
"Jack, you loved Bessie McPherson!"
"Yes," Jack answered him, unhesitatingly. "I do not mind telling it to
you. I think I have loved her since I first saw her, a demure,
old-fashioned little thing, in the funniest bonnet and dress you ever
saw, sitting with her father, in Hyde Park, and looking at the
passers-by. I watched her for some time, wondering who she was, and
then, at last, I ventured to speak to her, and standing by her chair
told her who the people were, and found out who she was, and called upon
her in Abingdon Road, and then she went away, but her face haunted me
continually, and even the remembrance of it and of her helped me to a
better life than I had lead before.
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