“Twenty?” I asked.  And she nodded her head proudly.

“Yes.”

“I thought you were still a child,” I remarked.

“No, no,” she returned, looking up to me open-eyed and very serious.  “I am a woman.”

“Yes, a beautiful child-woman—­the most beautiful in all the world,” I said, grasping her hand and holding it a moment till its fluttering ceased.  “And I am jealous of every other man who comes near you.”

I saw that my remark had offended her, so I continued earnestly:  “I meant it, Betty; I meant it.  I was not jesting.”

Betty sighed, looked quickly up to me, half in doubt, half in inquiry, and was about to speak, but closed her lips on her words and leaned forward, her head drooping eloquently.  Her gentleness, her sweetness, and her beauty were so tempting that I could not resist their charm.  Again I caught her hand, and it trembled in mine as she tried faintly to withdraw it.  I tried to check myself but failed, and I put my arm about her waist.  Then, after a mighty effort to stay my words, I said pleadingly:—­

“Ah, Betty, I love you.  Please, please, Betty, believe me, and—­and—­just one kiss.”

“No, no,” she cried pleadingly, trying to draw away from me.  “It could not be honest between us.  You are a nobleman—­I, a barmaid.  Your friendship is very dear to me.  Please let me keep it, Baron Ned, and let me keep my regard for you.  Let there be at least one man whom I do not fear.  You know there can be nothing honest between us, and if it be possible that one so lowly as I can deserve your respect, let me have it, Baron Ned, let me have it.  Let me keep it, for it is the dearest thing in life to me.”

There was such deep entreaty in her voice that it touched me to the heart, and I drew away from her immediately, saying:—­

“I do know there can be nothing honest between us, Betty, and knowing it, have suffered.  What I have said to you is little compared to what I feel and to what I would say.  I can’t help it that I love you, Betty, but you shall never have cause to fear me.  Do you believe me and do you trust me, Betty?”

For answer she held up her lips to me.  What she had refused on my request, she gave of her own accord, saying:—­

“There, Baron Ned.  Now, if you really respect me, you will know that I trust you, for I am not a girl to do this thing wantonly.  Perhaps I should not have done it at all, but you must know that I could not help it.  If you care for my friendship or are concerned for my happiness, I beg you never tempt me to repeat my folly.  There is no other man, but now you must know after what I have done, that there is one—­yourself.  But there can be nothing but friendship between us, Baron Ned, and oh, that is so much to me!  Let me have what happiness I can find in it!”

“But I love you, Betty, and I know that you love me,” I answered, unable to restrain my tongue.