were dirty and shiftless when they were, she made her kindness felt in so many ways that she was, if possible, more popular than Lucy herself, for, while Lucy only gave them money and sympathy, she helped them with her hands, and, if necessary, swept their floors, and washed their faces, and made their beds, and sometimes took their children home and kept them with her for days.
Such was Miss Betsey McPherson, who, as she is to figure conspicuously in this story, merits this introduction to the reader, and who, in her black silk of a dozen years old, with a long, heavy gold chain around her neck and a cap fashioned after the English style upon her head, stood up very tall and stiff to receive Mrs. Geraldine, but did not bend her head when she saw it was that lady's intention to kiss her.
"I know she would as soon kiss a piece of sole-leather as me, and I would rather kiss a flour-barrel than that powdered face," was her thought; and so she only gave her hand to Mrs. Jerrold, who told her how glad she was to see her and how much she was pleased with her brother, the Hon. John McPherson, and his charming wife, the Lady Jane.
"Why have you never spoken of them to us? I should be proud of such relatives," she said; and Miss McPherson replied:
"Umph! What's the use? I'm no better, no worse for them."
Just then the sound of bells was heard, and Hannah and Grey came in, and were received most cordially by Miss McPherson, who unbent to them as she had not done to the Boston lady. Indeed, there was something even tender in her voice as she spoke to Hannah and inquired after her father. Then, turning to Grey, she laid one hand on his head, and taking his chin in the other, looked searchingly in his face as she said:
"I wonder if you are the same boy I used to like so much, or has a trip to Europe spoiled you, as it does so many Americans?"
"Not a bit of it," Grey answered, merrily. "Europe is grand; Europe is beautiful; but she is very old, and I like young America better, with her freedom and her go-ahead, even if she is not as intensely respectable, and dignified, as her mother across the water."
The dinner-bell here put an end to the conversation, and Lucy preceded her guests to the dining-room, followed by her brother, who had been more than usually affectionate in his greeting to his sister, whom he took in to dinner, while Grey escorted his mother and Miss McPherson.
CHAPTER VII.
THE DINNER, AT WHICH BESSIE IS INTRODUCED.
The soup and fish had been served, and during the interval while Mr. Jerrold carved the big turkey which Hannah had contributed, and which she had fattened all the summer in anticipation of Grey's return and this very dinner, Mrs. Geraldine took occasion to introduce her favorite subject of conversation, Europe, and its customs, which she thought so infinitely superior to those this side the water.
"Umph!" ejaculated Miss McPherson, with an upward toss of the chin. Then, turning to Grey, she said, "And did you, too, like all the foreign habits?"
"No, indeed," was Grey's reply. "Just think of having your coffee and roll brought to you in the morning while you are in bed, and eating it in the smelling room, without washing your hands, and then going to sleep again. That is what I call very narsty, as the English say, though they do not use the word in that sense."
"You forget that Miss McPherson is English," Mrs. Jerrold said, and the lady in question at once rejoined:
"Never mind. I do not believe in spoiling a story for relation's sake, or country's either, and I fully agree with Grey that the Continental habit of breakfasting in bed, with unwashed face and hands, is a very nasty one, in the American sense of the word. I never did it, and never would."
"You have been on the Continent, then?" Mr. Jerrold asked, and instantly there came upon Miss McPherson's face an expression of bitter pain, as if some sad memory had been stirred; then, quickly recovering herself, she answered:
"Yes, I was at school in Paris a year, and traveled another year all over Switzerland, Germany, and Italy. It may seem strange to Grey, who probably cannot realize that I was ever young, to know that I, too, have my Alpenstock as a voucher for the mountains I have climbed and the chasms I have crossed. Did you go to Monte-Carlo?"
The question was addressed to Grey, who replied:
"Yes, we were there four days."
"Did you play?"
"No, I did not even see them play. They would not let me in; I was too young, and I should not have played anyway, for I promised Aunt Lucy I would not," Grey said, and Miss McPherson replied, with startling vehemence:
"That's right, my boy! that's right! Never, never play for money so long as you live. You have no idea what perils lurk around the gaming-table, or what an accursed spot Monte-Carlo is, beautiful as it is to look at. Those lovely grounds are haunted with the ghosts of the suicides who, ruined body and soul, have rushed unprepared into the presence of their Maker."
None of the guests had ever seen Miss McPherson so excited, and for a moment there was silence while they gazed at her wonderingly, as she sat with lips compressed and nostrils dilated, looking intently over their heads at something they could not see, but which evidently was very vivid to her.
Mrs. Geraldine was the first to speak, and she said, half laughingly:
"You are quite as much prejudiced against Rouge et Noir as your brother, for when I told him I tried my luck at Monte-Carlo and won twenty-five dollars, he seemed horrified, and I think it took him some hours to regard me with favor again."
"Yes, and he had reason. The McPhersons have all good cause to abhor the very name of gambling," Miss McPherson replied, hitching her chair a little further away from Geraldine as from something poisonous; then, in her characteristic way of suddenly changing the conversation, she said: "You saw my nephew, Neil McPherson?"
"Oh, yes," Mrs. Jerrold replied. "We saw a good deal of him; he is very fine-looking, with such gentlemanly manners for a boy. I should be glad if Grey would imitate him," and she glanced at her son, on whose face a cloud instantly fell.
Miss McPherson saw it, and turning to him she asked:
"How did you like Neil? Boys are sometimes better judges of each other than older people. Did you think him very nice?"
Remembering Miss McPherson's love for the naked truth, Grey spoke out boldly.
"No, madam; at first I did not like him at all. We had a fight!"
"A fight!" Miss McPherson repeated, in surprise, as did both Hannah and Lucy simultaneously, while Mrs. Jerrold interposed:
"I think, Grey, I would not mention that, as it reflects no credit upon you."
"But he insulted me first," Grey replied, and Miss McPherson insisted:
"Tell it, Grey, and do not omit anything, because I am his aunt. Tell it exactly as it was. I want the truth."
Thus
