"By the way, Flossie is in London, with her grandmother, stopping at Langham's, and Jack is there, too, and has asked the old lady to spend some weeks at Trevellian Castle. It is frightfully lonesome there, he says, and he wants Flossie to brighten it up. Can you read between the lines? I think I can. Flossie is bright as a button.
"Again yours, forever,
"Neil."
Bessie read the letter, and then, passing it to her husband, said:
"It is from Neil. Would you like to see it?"
Taking it from her, Grey read it through, and then, leaning back in his chair, watched Bessie, as, with her elbows on her knees, and her face resting on her hands, she sat gazing intently into the fire with a wistful, earnest look which puzzled him a little. Was she thinking of the two men who had loved her so much and one of whom loved her still? And was she sending a regret after the title she had lost? He did not believe so; and, after a moment, he reached out his hand, and laying it caressingly upon her soft, wavy hair, said to her:
"What is it, petite? Are you thinking how you might have been Lady Bessie Trevellian?"
Then she turned her clear, truthful blue eyes upon him and answered:
"No, Grey. I would rather be your wife than the grandest duchess in the world, but I am thinking of Neil and his father, and how hard it is for them to be so poor. Grey"—and rising from her stool, Bessie seated herself on her husband's lap, and, winding her arms around his neck, and laying her soft, warm check against his bearded one, said again; "Grey, I want to ask you something—want to do something. Can I?"
"Yes, do what you like. Ask me what you like. What is it, darling?" Grey answered her, and Bessie replied: