When the young people reached the steps the eyes of the rivals met for one brief second, but that was long enough for them to understand each other.  They did not speak.  Lydia hesitated and looked toward Betty.

“Betty, here is—­” began Col.  Zane, but Betty passed them with flaming cheeks and with not so much as a glance at Alfred.  It was an awkward moment for him.

“Let us go in,” he said composedly, and they filed into the church.

As long as he lived Alfred Clarke never forgot that hour.  His pride kept him chained in his seat.  Outwardly he maintained his composure, but inwardly his brain seemed throbbing, whirling, bursting.  What an idiot he had been!  He understood now why his letter had never been answered.  Betty loved Miller, a man who hated him, a man who would leave no stone unturned to destroy even a little liking which she might have felt for him.  Once again Miller had crossed his path and worsted him.  With a sudden sickening sense of despair he realized that all his fond hopes had been but dreams, a fool’s dreams.  The dream of that moment when he would give her his mother’s jewels, the dream of that charming face uplifted to his, the dream of the little cottage to which he would hurry after his day’s work and find her waiting at the gate,—­these dreams must be dispelled forever.  He could barely wait until the end of the service.  He wanted to be alone; to fight it out with himself; to crush out of his heart that fair image.  At length the hour ended and he got out before the congregation and hurried to his room.

Betty had company all that afternoon and it was late in the day when Col.  Zane ascended the stairs and entered her room to find her alone.

“Betty, I wish to know why you ignored Mr. Clarke this morning?” said Col.  Zane, looking down on his sister.  There was a gleam in his eye and an expression about his mouth seldom seen in the Colonel’s features.

“I do not know that it concerns any one but myself,” answered Betty quickly, as her head went higher and her eyes flashed with a gleam not unlike that in her brother’s.

“I beg your pardon.  I do not agree with you,” replied Col.  Zane.  “It does concern others.  You cannot do things like that in this little place where every one knows all about you and expect it to pass unnoticed.  Martin’s wife saw you cut Clarke and you know what a gossip she is.  Already every one is talking about you and Clarke.”

“To that I am indifferent.”

“But I care.  I won’t have people talking about you,” replied the Colonel, who began to lose patience.  Usually he had the best temper imaginable.  “Last fall you allowed Clarke to pay you a good deal of attention and apparently you were on good terms when he went away.  Now that he has returned you won’t even speak to him.  You let this fellow Miller run after you.  In my estimation Miller is not to be compared to Clarke, and judging from the warm greetings I saw Clarke receive this morning, there are a number of folk who agree with me.  Not that I am praising Clarke.  I simply say this because to Bessie, to Jack, to everyone, your act is incomprehensible.  People are calling you a flirt and saying that they would prefer some country manners.”