"My head is better, Hugh; but I _am_ wicked," murmured Bessie from the
heap of cushions.

"Wicked! What do you mean, Brownie?"

"Just what I say. I am always in trouble myself and drawing you in
too. You would be a great deal better without me, Hugh. I shall be
glad when you go to New York."

"Glad, Bessie!"

"I mean it will be better for you," murmured Bessie.

"And how about yourself?"

"Oh, I shall never be good at all; I shall stay at home and be wicked,
I suppose," said Bessie, with the sound of tears in her voice. Hugh
did not reply, but he put out his hand and stroked the dark curls
gently. After a moment or two Bessie suddenly recovered her spirits.
"How was Miss Chase?" she asked gayly.

"Lovely as a lily," said Hugh, laughing; "I told her so, too."

"Was Graham Marr there?"

"Yes; I left him with Sibyl."

"Did he quote poetry?"

"I presume so, in the intervals of the music, Gid was there, too."