"I
didn't know--so you are alive--you disappeared so suddenly that
night--"
"Yes, I'm alive," he said, and then with a smile. "But I fear
before you get through with me we'll both wish I were not,
Betty."
"Don't call me Betty."
"Who was that man who met you at New Madrid? He can't have you,
whoever he is!" His eyes dwelt on her tenderly, and the
remembered spell of her fresh youthful beauty deepened itself for
him.
"Perhaps he doesn't want me--"
"Yes, he does. That was plain as day."
Betty surveyed him from under her lashes. What could she do with
this man? Nothing affected him. He seemed to have crossed some
intangible barrier and to stand closer to her than any other man
had ever stood.
"Do you still hate me, Betty--Miss Malroy--is there anything I
can say or do that will make you forgive me?" He looked at her
penitently.
But Betty hardened her heart against him and prepared to keep him
in place. Remembering that he was still holding her hand, she
recovered it.
"Will you sit down?" she indicated a chair. He seated himself
and Betty put a safe distance between them. "Are you staying in
the neighborhood, Mr. Carrington ?" she asked, rather unkindly.
How did he dare come here when she had forgotten him and her
annoyance? And now the sight of him brought back memories of
that disagreeable night on that horrid boat--he had deceived her
about that boat, too--she would never forgive him for that--she
had trusted him and he had clearly shown that he was not to be
trusted; and Betty closed her pretty mouth until it was a thin
red line and looked away that she might not see his hateful face.
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