“She has her mother’s wonderful beauty, with all its refinement of her father, and such a sweet expression that you feel like kissing her.  Her eyes, like her mother’s, are blue, but so clear and dark that at times they seemed almost black, especially when there came into them as there often did, a troubled look, when Daisy was relating some of her adventures, which we knew could not be true.  At such times, it was curious to watch the child as she listened with her great wide-open eyes and flushed cheeks, while her breath came in short gasps, as if she were longing to contradict her mother, and this she sometimes did.

“‘Mamma, mamma, please,’ she would say.  ’Haven’t you forgotten?  Wasn’t it this way?’ but a look would silence her, and there would settle upon her face and about her mouth that patient, sorrowful expression pitiful to see in one so young.”

“And her father, was he fond of her?” Miss McPherson asked, and Mrs. Jerrold replied: 

“Yes, very, and she of him.  She seemed to recognize the difference between him and her mother, and kept by him most of the time.  It was a very pretty sight to see her with her arms around his neck and her bright head leaning on his arm, while she looked up at him so lovingly and sympathizingly, too, as they watched the maneuvers of her mother.  Once I heard her say to him, when Daisy was flirting more than usual and attracting all eyes to her, ’I shall never do like that; but mamma is very pretty, isn’t she?’

“‘Yes, darling, very pretty,’ he answered, and then they kissed each other very quietly.  I wish you could see Bessie.”

It was not often that Geraldine praised anything or anybody as she praised this little English girl who had made a strong impression upon her, and of whom she might have said more if Miss McPherson had not rejoined: 

“I did see her once, and her mother, too.  I was home three years ago, you know, and I went to Aberystwyth in Wales, where I heard Archie was staying, but I did not make myself known to him, I was so disgusted with what I heard of his wife’s conduct, which he allowed without a word of protest.  But I was anxious to see the child, and one morning I sat on a bench on the Marine Terrace watching a group of children playing near me.  I was almost sure that the one with the blue eyes and bright hair was Archie’s and so I called aloud, ‘Betsey McPherson, are you there?’

“Instantly she came to me, and folding her hands in my lap, looked up at me with her wondering eyes and said: 

“‘I am Bessie McPherson, not Betsey.’

“‘Weren’t you christened Betsey?’ I asked, and she replied: 

“‘Yes, but they never call me that.  It’s a horrid name, mamma says.’

“‘Then why did she give it to you?’ I said, and she answered with the utmost gravity: 

“’For some old auntie in America who has money; but she never sent me a thing, nor answered papa’s letter.  I think she is mean, don’t you?’