Bessie always pretended to be bored by these encounters of wit with the
fat, bald-headed man who had been her father's contemporary: "You have no
right to yawn when I am talking to you, Miss Bessie," he would reprove
her. "Why do you do it?"
"Because I am tired."
"You mean because you are tired of my company? That is not the reason you
yawn, however. You yawn because you have indigestion."
"I? Indigestion? What makes you think so, pray? Do I look like
indigestion? Have I spots on my face, or a red nose?"
"No, but you are growing fat. You eat too much."
"Mr. Boult, how _dare_ you!"
"You eat too much, and work too little. You don't take exercise enough to
digest your food."
"You are making personal remarks, Mr. Boult. No gentleman can make
personal remarks to a lady unless they are complimentary--" and so on.
When Deleah went away it seemed that Bessie blossomed out into greater
attractiveness. Perhaps in the restricted spaces of Bridge Street there
had not been room enough or air enough for the development of both
sisters; or it may have been that Deleah, with her superior beauty and
winsomeness, shone the other down, and that Bessie had been conscious of
the fact. Certainly she grew more amiable, more useful, even grew prettier
and more lovable.
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