actly!"

"But if you don't respect him, Bessie--"

"Why, how can I? He doesn't respect me!"

"I know you're teasing, now," said Mary Enderby, getting up, "and you're
quite right. I have no business to--"

Bessie pulled her down upon the seat again. "Yes, you have! Don't I tell
you, over and over? He doesn't respect me, because I don't know how to
make him, and he wouldn't like it if I did. But now I'll try to make you
understand. I don't believe I care for him the least; but mind, I'm not
certain, for I've never cared for any one, and I don't know what it's
like. You know I'm not sentimental; I think sentiment's funny; and I'm
not dignified--"

"You're divine," murmured Mary Enderby, with reproachful adoration.

"Yes, but you see how my divinity could be improved," said Bessie, with a
wild laugh. "I'm not sentimental, but I'm emotional, and he gives me
emotions. He's a riddle, and I'm all the time guessing at him. You get
the answer to the kind of men we know easily; and it's very nice, but it
doesn't amuse you so much as trying. Now, Mr. Durgin--what a name! I can
see it makes you creep--is no more like one of us than a--bear is--and
his attitude toward us is that of a bear who's gone so much with human
beings that he thinks he's a human being. He's delightful, that way. And,
do you know, he's intellectual! He actually brings me books, and wants to
read passages to me out of them! He has brought me the plans of the new
hotel he's going to build. It's to be very aesthetic, and it's going to
be called The Lion's Head Inn. There's to be a little theatre, for
amateur dramatics, which I could conduct, and for all sorts of
professional amusements. If you should ever come, Molly, I'm sure we
shall do our best to make you comfortable."

Mary Enderby would not let Bessie laugh upon her shoulder after she said
this. "Bessie Lynde," she said, severely, "if you have no regard for
yourself, you ought to have some regard for him. You may say you are not
encouraging him, and you may believe it--"

"Oh, I shouldn't say it if I didn't believe it," Bessie broke in, with a
mock air of seriousness.

"I must be going," said Mary, stiffly, and this time she succeeded in
getting to her feet.

Bessie laid hold of her again. "You think you've been trifled with, don't
you, dear?"

"No--"

"Yes, you do! Don't you try to be slippery, Molly. The plain pikestaff is
your style, morally speaking--if any one knows what a pikestaff is. W