"Is that you, Bessie? What are you doing here?" said her cousin, lighting a burner in the chandelier. "Why, you have been crying! Does your head ache? Do you feel faint?"
"My head is better, Hugh; but I am wicked," murmured Bessie from the heap of cushions.
"Wicked! What do you mean, Brownie?"
"Just what I say. I am always in trouble myself and drawing you in too. You would be a great deal better without me, Hugh. I shall be glad when you go to New York."
"Glad, Bessie!"
"I mean it will be better for you," murmured Bessie.
"And how about yourself?"
"Oh, I shall never be good at all; I shall stay at home and be wicked, I suppose," said Bessie, with the sound of tears in her voice. Hugh did not reply, but he put out his hand and stroked the dark curls gently. After a moment or two Bessie suddenly recovered her spirits. "How was Miss Chase?" she asked gayly.
"Lovely as a lily," said Hugh, laughing; "I told her so, too."
"Was Graham Marr there?"