it, as he would never have pressed me for it, and I could not pay
it if he did. My rooms cost me so much that I never have a shilling to
spare, and I do not go to Monte Carlo often, for these Rossiter-Brownes
profess to be very religious people--Baptists, I believe--and hold
gambling in great abhorrence, so, as I wish to stand well with them I
have to play on the sly, or not at all. They have a house in New York
and another in the country somewhere, and a cottage at the sea-side; and
they have a maid and a courier, and Mrs. Rossiter-Browne talks as
familiarly with both of them as she does with me, and I think feels more
at ease in their society than in mine. But she is a good woman, and
since commencing this letter I have decided to accept her invitation and
accompany her to America. They sail the last week in June, and I shall
manage to spend a few days at Stoneleigh before I go. How is your
father? Write me soon, and if you can do so please send me a pound or
two. I have so very little; and I had to borrow of Ted, who, I must
say, loaned me rather unwillingly, I thought, while Trevellian, whom I
tried cautiously, never took the hint at all. It must be I am going off
and have not the same power over the men which I once had; and yet Mrs.
Rossiter-Browne told me the other day that I was called the prettiest
woman in Nice, and said she was very proud to have me of her party. What
a fool she is, to be sure!"

This letter filled Bessie with disgust and anxiety, too, while for a
moment there arose within her a feeling of rebellion and bitter
resentment against the woman who got so much from life and left her to
bear its burdens alone.

"But I would far rather be what I am than what she is," she thought, as
she wiped her tears away and stole softly to her father's room to see if
he were still sleeping.

He was usually in a half-unconscious condition now, seldom rousing
except to take his meals, or when Bessie made a great effort to interest
him, and she did not guess how fast he was failing. The second week in
June Daisy came, fresh and bright and eager, and looking almost as young
as Bessie, who knew no rest day or night, and was pale and thin and
worn, with a look on her face and in her eyes very sad to see in a young
girl.

"Oh, mother, I am so glad you have come," she cried, and laying her head
in her mother's lap, she sobbed passionately for a moment, while she
said: "And you will not go away; will not leave me here