Jeffray dismounted and advanced towards her, leading his horse by the bridle. Bess had risen and came some paces to meet him, making no pretence to conceal her pleasure.
“Bess, I am glad I happened to take the track by the abbey.”
“I am glad, also, Mr. Jeffray.”
They looked at each other and smiled, instant sympathy flashing from face to face. Bess looked very handsome with her black hair about her, and Jeffray could not refrain from confessing the truth instinctively to himself. Never in all Italy had he seen such coloring, such eyes, or so fine a figure. To be sure her hands were a little red and rough, but they were prettily made, and suited her simple and brightly colored clothes.
“I have been wishing to see you,” said the girl, beginning to bind up her black hair and watching Jeffray all the while.
“To see me, Bess?”
“They seem long days since I nursed you in our cottage.”
Richard, good youth, experienced secret pleasure at the confession. The girl’s voice, deep, rich, and slightly husky, contrasted strangely with Miss Jilian’s prattle. She spoke slowly, as though with an inward effort, trying to temper her words to Jeffray’s superior culture. It was done without affectation, however, and her quaint, slow way of mouthing her words had an irresistible charm in it that made Jeffray delight in hearing her speak.
“You have been bathing, Bess?”
She laughed, blushed a little, and began to coil up her hair over the curve of her long, brown neck.