Being there, Bess took Storri to herself.

She betrayed a surprising interest in statistics--the populations of cities, crops, politics, and every other form of European what-not--and kept Storri answering questions like a school-boy.
Thereafter, Storri was no sooner in the Harley house when, presto! from over the way our pythoness sweeps in.

Bess was there before the servant had taken Storri's hat.

This disturbing fortune depressed him; he attributed it to ill luck, never once observing that the instant he appeared, Dorothy's black maid skipped across to summon Bess.
"Really, Bess," pleaded Dorothy, following Storri's fourth call--she had gone to the Marklins' just after her admirer left--"really, Bess, if you love me, rescue me.

There was never such a bore! Positively, the creature will send me to my grave! And, besides,"-- with a little shiver,--"I have a horror of the man!" And so the good Bess came each time, and faithfully refused to budge for the whole of Storri's visit.