“I daresay it’s as bad everywhere,” said Bessie, with a little sigh; “but when one cannot get work in one place, one naturally turns to another. I had an appointment to-day to come up to see a lady; but I was not the proper person. Perhaps I shall have to stay at home after all.” “Have you any grudge at me?” said Mr Brown. Bessie looked up open-eyed and wondering. “Grudge? at _you_? How could I? I daresay,” said Bessie, with a sigh and a smile, “mamma had, a year ago; but not me. The times I have spoken to you, Mr Brown, you have always been kind to me.” “Have I?” said the lawyer. He gave her a strange look, and stopped short, as if his utterance was somehow impeded. Kind to her! He remembered that time in Grove Street, and could have scourged himself at the recollection. Bessie had taken him entirely aback by her simple expression. He could have sobbed under that sudden touch. To see her walking beside him, cheerful, steadfast, without a complaint--a creature separated from the world, from youth and pleasure, and mere comfort even--enduring hardness, for all her soft childlike dimples and unaffected smiles--his composure was entirely overcome. He was going to do something very foolish. He gasped, and gave himself up. “If you don’t bear me a grudge, come over into the Park here, where we can hear ourselves speak. I want to speak to you,” said Mr Brown. She turned into the Park with him quite simply, as she did everything without any pretence of wonder or embarrassment. There he walked a long time by her side in silence, she waiting for what he had to say, he at the most overwhelming loss how to say it. The next thing he said was to ask her to sit down in a shady quiet corner, where there was an unoccupied seat. She was very much fatigued. It was too bad of him to bring her out of her way. “But it is so noisy in the street,” said Mr Brown. Then, with a pause after this unquestionable truism, “I’ve been thinking about you this very long time.”