"Oh, Blessington, I wish you wouldn't go meddling with my things," he said roughly. "William tells me you took some flannels of mine away to mend or put a button on. Where are they?"
Blessington got up without a word and went to her cupboard.
"Here they are, my lord," she said. "I have mended them."
"Well, please don't carry my clothes away again. Come on, Jessie. I'll be ready in a moment."
Blessington's hands came together with a trembling movement as Archie twitched the flannel coat away from her. But he did not even look at her, and went out of her room, banging the door.
Blessington sat down again, and began to cry quietly. "There now, you see, Miss Jessie," she said. "And that's my own Master Archie."
For a minute or so Jessie sat with her, trying vainly to comfort her, and shocked beyond expression at Archie's brutal callousness to his old nurse. And then the door opened again, and Archie looked in. Once again all his anger and impatience had died out of his face, his real soul looked from his eyes as from a prison-house, and his voice shook as he spoke.
"Go away, please, Jessie, and leave me with Blessington for a minute," he said.
And then he came across the room to her, and knelt down by her, and took her withered old hand in his, and stroked it and kissed it. So much Jessie saw before she closed the door behind her.
"Blessington, my old darling," said Archie, "I can't think why I have been so beastly to you. It wasn't me, that's all I can tell you. I always love you. Can you forgive me?"