“I supposed you simply wanted to take a walk, and it is very pleasant here.”

“Then Col.  Zane did not tell you?” demanded Alfred.  Receiving no reply he went on.

“Did you read my letter?”

“What letter?”

“The letter old Sam should have given you last fall.  Did you read it?”

“Yes,” answered Betty, faintly.

“Did your brother tell you I wanted to see you this morning?”

“Yes, he told me, and it made me very angry,” said Betty, raising her head.  There was a bright red spot in each cheek.  “You—­you seemed to think you—­that I—­well—­I did not like it.”

“I think I understand; but you are entirely wrong.  I have never thought you cared for me.  My wildest dreams never left me any confidence.  Col.  Zane and Wetzel both had some deluded notion that you cared—­”

“But they had no right to say that or to think it,” said Betty, passionately.  She sprang to her feet, scattering the daisies over the grass.  “For them to presume that I cared for you is absurd.  I never gave them any reason to think so, for—­for I—­I don’t.”

“Very well, then, there is nothing more to be said,” answered Alfred, in a voice that was calm and slightly cold.  “I’m sorry if you have been annoyed.  I have been mad, of course, but I promise you that you need fear no further annoyance from me.  Come, I think we should return to the house.”

And he turned and walked slowly up the path.  He had taken perhaps a dozen steps when she called him.

“Mr. Clarke, come back.”

Alfred retraced his steps and stood before her again.  Then he saw a different Betty.  The haughty poise had disappeared.  Her head was bowed.  Her little hands were tightly pressed over a throbbing bosom.

“Well,” said Alfred, after a moment.

“Why—­why are you in such a hurry to go?”

“I have learned what I wanted to know.  And after that I do not imagine I would be very agreeable.  I am going back.  Are you coming?”

“I did not mean quite what I said,” whispered Betty.

“Then what did you mean?” asked Alfred, in a stern voice.

“I don’t know.  Please don’t speak so.”

“Betty, forgive my harshness.  Can you expect a man to feel as I do and remain calm?  You know I love you.  You must not trifle any longer.  You must not fight any longer.”

“But I can’t help fighting.”

“Look at me,” said Alfred, taking her hands.  “Let me see your eyes.  I believe you care a little for me, or else you wouldn’t have called me back.  I love you.  Can you understand that?”

“Yes, I can; and I think you should love me a great deal to make up for what you made me suffer.”

“Betty, look at me.”

Slowly she raised her head and lifted the downcast eyes.  Those telltale traitors no longer hid her secret.  With a glad cry Alfred caught her in his arms.  She tried to hide her face, but he got his hand under her chin and held it firmly so that the sweet crimson lips were very near his own.  Then he slowly bent his head.