By a gesture Betty
called him to her side.
"How is Mr. Norton?" she asked, extending her hand.
"The doctor says he'll be up and about inside of a week, anyhow,
Miss Malroy," said Carrington.
Betty gave a great sigh of relief.
"Then his hurts are not serious?"
"No," said Carrington, "they are not in any sense serious."
"May I see him?"
"He's pretty well bandaged up, so he looks worse off than he is.
If you'll wait on the porch, I'll tell him you are here," for
Betty had dismounted.
"If you please."
Carrington passed on into the house. His face wore a look of
somber repression. Of course it was all right for her to come
and see Norton--they were old, old friends. He entered the room
where Norton lay.
"Miss Malroy is here," he said shortly.
"Betty?--bless her dear heart!" cried Charley rather weakly.
"Just toss my clothes into the closet and draw up a chair . . .
There-thank you, Bruce, that will do--let her come along in now."
And as Carrington quitted the room, Norton drew himself up on the
pillows and faced the door. "This is worth several beatings,
Betty!" he exclaimed as she appeared on the threshold. But much
cotton and many bandages lent him a rather fearful aspect, and
Betty paused with a little gasp of dismay. "I'm lots better than
I look, I expect," said Norton. "Couldn't you arrange to come a
little closer?" he added, laughing.
He bent to kiss the hand she gave him, but groaned with the
exertion.
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