This had been her
first appearance in public since her home-coming, and she felt
that it had been most satisfactory. She had met everybody she
had ever known, and scores of new people; her progress had been
quite triumphal in spite of Tom, and in spite of Charley Norton,
who was plainly not anxious to share her with any one, his
devotion being rather of the monopolizing sort.
Betty now seated herself in the carriage, with Hannibal beside
her, quietly determined to miss nothing. The judge, feeling that
he had come into his own, leaned elegantly against the wheel, and
explained the merits of each shot as it was made.
"Our intruding friend, the Captain, ma'am, is certainly a master
with his weapon," he observed.
Betty was already aware of this. She turned to Norton.
"Charley, I can't bear to have him win!"
"I am afraid he will, for anything I can do, Betty," said Norton.
"Mr. Carrington, can't you shoot?--do take Hannibal's rifle and
beat him," she coaxed.
"Don't be too sure that I can!" said Carrington, laughing.
"But I know you can!" urged Betty.
"I hope you gentlemen are not going to let me walk off with the
prize?" said Murrell, approaching the group about the carriage.
"Mr. Norton, I am told you are clever with the rifle."
"I am not shooting to-day," responded Norton haughtily.
Murrell stalked back to the line.
"At forty paces I'd risk it myself, ma'am," said the judge. "But
at a hundred, offhand like this, I should most certainly fail
--I've burnt too much midnight oil.
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