It was afternoon of the same day, and Jessie awaited with some anxiety and a great deal of curiosity the arrival of the young visitor. Gustave had told her in the morning that he should try to leave business earlier than usual, in order to meet Miss Palm at the station, and bring her to the house before his brother came home. At the appointed hour, then, he entered the drawing-room, leading a young girl.
"Miss Frida Palm," said he, introducing her. "My protégée, from this moment our protégée, since you are so good as to afford her an asylum in your house."
Jessie felt painfully impressed by this mode of introduction. So he did not even venture to introduce the girl to her as his betrothed. "Protégée," that was a word open to so many interpretations. He intended evidently to leave himself a means of retreat, should his brother show himself unyielding. Miss Clifford pitied with her whole heart the young creature who had given herself to such an egoist, and consequently her reception was warmer than she had at first intended.
"You are very welcome, Miss Palm," said she kindly; "I have heard all about you, and you may confide yourself to me without fear. I am not accustomed to neglect my protégées."
The "I" was slightly but distinctly accented, but he, at whom the remark was directed, remained, alas, totally unmoved. He seemed extremely pleased that his plan had succeeded, and the young stranger replied in a low, rather trembling voice--
"You are very kind, Miss Clifford, and I only hope that I may deserve your goodness."
Jessie placed her visitor beside her, and while the usual remarks on the weather, her journey, and arrival were made, she took the opportunity of examining her more closely. She was certainly a very young girl, almost a child, who had evidently scarcely reached her sixteenth year, but the delicate childish features bore an expression of seriousness and decision, astonishing at such an age. The large, dark eyes generally rested on the ground, but when they were raised for a moment, they gave a glance full of shyness and restraint which suited ill with the energetic features. The dark hair was simply drawn back from her face, and the deep mourning dress made the young stranger appear even paler than she naturally was.
"You are an orphan?" asked Jessie, with a glance at the dress.
"I lost my mother six months ago," was the short, touching answer.
That touched a kindred string in Jessie's bosom. She still mourned too for her beloved parents, and by the recollection came an expression of pain in her face.