“Excuse me, are you Madame Barto’s daughter?”
Jessie lifted those large, dark, haunting eyes to his face in wonder, answering:
“No, I am an orphan girl—living with madame and working for her because I have no home nor friends.”
The pathos of the low-spoken words went to his heart, and his voice grew soft with sympathy as he said:
“My name is Frank Laurier. May I know yours?”
“It is Jessie Lyndon,” she replied, dropping her eyes with a deepening blush at his eager glance.
“A pretty name. I should like to know you better, Miss Lyndon. Will you take a little drive with me in the park some afternoon?”
She started in such surprise that the sewing fell from her little, trembling hands.
“Sir, I—I——” she faltered confusedly.
He smiled at her dismay, and added eagerly: