“Jessie,” he began, and she turned her face towards him, but without speaking, and then there was a minute’s pause.
“Jessie,” he began again, and the intention had been to speak of his own affairs, but his feelings were too much for him, and he turned off the primary question to pass to one that had but a secondary place in his mind.
Jessie did not reply, but looked up at him timidly, in a way that checked rather than accelerated his flow of words.
“I wanted to speak to you about Daisy Banks,” he said at last.
“Yes; what about her?” said Jessie, wonderingly.
“I ought not to speak perhaps; but you have no mother, and Mr Bultitude does not seem to notice these things.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Jessie, wonderingly.
John Maine would gladly have backed out of his position, but it was too late, and he was obliged to flounder on.
“I meant about Daisy Banks and Mr Richard Glaire.”
“Well?” said Jessie, looking full at him. “What about them?”