The musicale was held at the residence of Mrs. Arlington, on the opposite side of the avenue, but a short distance from the old stone house, and Bessie, after taking off her wet clothes, dressed herself in a wrapper, and took her seat at the open hall-window in the second story, where she could see the lights through the trees, and even hear an occasional strain of the music on the night breeze. She felt depressed; her head ached, and her conscience likewise. "I am always doing something wrong," she thought ruefully; "I let Hugh pay that debt; then I teased him out of his idea of telling Aunt Faith, and made him take me riding again, and when he was kind enough to give in to my wish, I deliberately went out on that plank when he told me not to go, and the result was I came near being drowned, and poor Hugh must have had a struggle to get me out in that current. I suppose he is over there now talking with Edith Chase! she is an affected, silly girl, but I suppose Hugh does not understand her as well as I do. However, perhaps she is better than I am! I am dreadful, I know; and so homely, too! I look just like an Indian. Edith is considered pretty. To be sure _I_ think she looks just like a white cat; but then, some people think white cats are pretty. Well, her looks are nothing to me. _I_ don't care anything about it!" And in truth of this assertion, Bessie crouched down among the cushions of the lounge, and had what girls call "a good cry." About an hour afterwards she heard a step on the gravel walk in front of the house, and the sound of a latch-key in the front-door; in another minute Hugh came up the stairs on the way to his room. "Hugh! Hugh!" called out a voice in the darkness. "Is that you, Bessie? What are you doing here?" said her cousin, lighting a burner in the chandelier. "Why, you have been crying! Does your head ache? Do you feel faint?" "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." "At the door of the supper-room, I suppose?" "Yes, he was looking at the salad when I came away." "That reminds me; why did you leave so early, Hugh?"