Betty’s defiance went from her like a flame blown
out. She turned away and drooped her proud head.
“It could not have made me a happy woman to marry one man, loving another,” she said, in a whisper.
I got up and went over to her.
“Betty, whom do you love?” I asked, also in a whisper.
“You,” she murmured meekly — oh, so meekly, my proud little girl!
“Betty,” I said brokenly, “I’m old — too old for you — I’m more than twenty years your senior — I’m —”
“Oh!” Betty wheeled around on me and stamped her foot. “Don’t mention your age to me again. I don’t care if you're as old as Methusaleh. But I’m not going to coax you to marry me, sir! If you won't, I’ll never marry anybody — I’ll live and die an old maid. You can please yourself, of course!”
She turned away, half-laughing, half-crying; but I caught her in my arms and crushed her sweet lips against mine.
“Betty, I’m the happiest man in the world — and I was the most miserable when I came here.”
“You deserved to be,” said Betty cruelly. “I’m glad you were. Any man as stupid as you deserves to be unhappy, What do you think I felt like,
