'I brought this little bunch of flowers for her. Flowers are scarce now, and the sight of them freshens one up. Although, Mr. Sparrow, your granddaughter is a brighter flower than any in this bunch!'
'That she is, sir; that she is,' cried Ben, in delight; adding to himself, under his breath, 'Every inch a gentleman! His kindness to George and me is a-maz-ing--A-MAZ-ING!'
The idle young dog, entering the parlour, found Bessie very pale and very unhappy. She was unhappy because of the manner of her parting from George last night; unhappy and utterly miserable because of the poisoned dagger which had been planted in her heart.
'I was passing through Covent garden,' said the idle young dog, in gentle tones, thinking how pretty Bessie looked even in her sorrow, 'and seeing these flowers, I thought you would do me the pleasure to accept them.'
Bessie thanked him, and took them listlessly from his hand. Tottie, who was playing at 'shop' in a corner of the room, weighing sand in paper scales, and disposing of it to imaginary customers as the best fourpenny-ha'penny moist (is this ever done in reality, I wonder!), came forward to see and smell the flowers. The idle young dog seized upon Tottie as a pretext for taking a seat, and, lifting the child on his knee, allowed her to play with his watch-chain, and opened his watch for her, and put it to her ear, so that she might hear it tick--a performance of which she would never have tired. His manner towards Bessie was very considerate and gentle, and she had every reason to be grateful to him, for he had been a good friend to her grandfather and her lover. Certainly he was one of the pleasantest gentlemen in the world, and he won Tottie's heart by giving her a shilling--the newest he could find in his pocket. Tottie immediately slipped off his knee, and went to her corner to brighten the coin with sand; after the fashion of old Ben Sparrow, who often polished up a farthing with sand until he could see his face in it, and gave it to Tottie as a golden sovereign. Tottie valued it quite as much as she would have done if it had been the purest gold.
The idle young dog did not stay very long; he was no bungler at this sort of idling, and he knew the value of leaving a good impression behind him. So, after a quarter of an hour's pleasant chat, he shook hands with Bessie, and as he stood smiling at her, wishing her good-day, with her hand in his, the door suddenly opened, and George Naldret appeared.
His face was white and haggard, and there was a wild grief in his eyes. The agony through which he had passed on the previous night seemed to have made him old in a few hours. He stood there silent, looking at Bessie and young Mr. Million, and at their clasped hands. It was but for a moment, for Bessie, with a startled cry--a cry that had in it pain and horror at the misery in his face--had taken her hand from young Mr. Million's palm; it was but for a moment, but the new expression that overspread George's face like an evil cloud was the expression of a man who had utterly lost all faith and belief in purity and goodness: and had thus lost sight of Heaven.
Bessie divined its meaning, and gave a gasp of agony, but did not speak. Not so, young Mr. Million.
'Good Heavens!' he cried, with a guilty look which he could not hide from George's keen gaze. 'George, what has happened?'
George looked at young Mr. Million's outstretched hand, and rejected it disdainfully and with absolute contempt. Then looked at the flowers on the table--hothouse flowers he knew they were--then into Bessie's face, which seemed as if it were carved out of gray-white stone, so fixed did it grow in his gaze--then at the earrings in her ears: and a bitter, bitter smile came to his lips--a smile it was pity to see there.