“Is it Mr. Norton?” asked Betty.

“No, Miss—­he didn’t give no name, Miss.”

When Betty entered the parlor a moment later she saw her caller standing with his back turned toward her as he gazed from one of the windows, but she instantly recognized those broad shoulders, and the fine poise of the shapely head that surmounted them.

“Oh, Mr. Carrington—­” and Betty stopped short, while her face grew rather pale and then crimsoned.  Then she advanced quite boldly and held out a frigid hand, which he took carefully.  “I didn’t know—­so you are alive—­you disappeared so suddenly that night—­”

“Yes, I’m alive,” he said, and then with a smile.  “But I fear before you get through with me we’ll both wish I were not, Betty.”

“Don’t call me Betty.”

“Who was that man who met you at New Madrid?  He can’t have you, whoever he is!” His eyes dwelt on her tenderly, and the remembered spell of her fresh youthful beauty deepened itself for him.

“Perhaps he doesn’t want me—­”

“Yes, he does.  That was plain as day.”

Betty surveyed him from under her lashes.  What could she do with this man?  Nothing affected him.  He seemed to have crossed some intangible barrier and to stand closer to her than any other man had ever stood.

“Do you still hate me, Betty—­Miss Malroy—­is there anything I can say or do that will make you forgive me?” He looked at her penitently.

But Betty hardened her heart against him and prepared to keep him in place.  Remembering that he was still holding her hand, she recovered it.

“Will you sit down?” she indicated a chair.  He seated himself and Betty put a safe distance between them.  “Are you staying in the neighborhood, Mr. Carrington ?” she asked, rather unkindly.  How did he dare come here when she had forgotten him and her annoyance?  And now the sight of him brought back memories of that disagreeable night on that horrid boat—­he had deceived her about that boat, too—­she would never forgive him for that—­she had trusted him and he had clearly shown that he was not to be trusted; and Betty closed her pretty mouth until it was a thin red line and looked away that she might not see his hateful face.

“No, I’m not staying in the neighborhood.  When I left you, I made up my mind I’d wait at New Madrid until I could come on down here and say I was sorry.”

“And it’s taken you all this time?”

Carrington regarded her seriously.

“I reckon I must have come for more time, Betty—­Miss Malroy.”  In spite of herself, Betty glowed under the caressing humor of his tone.

“Really—­you must have chosen poorly then when you selected New Madrid.  It couldn’t have been a good place for your purpose.”

“I think if I could have made up my mind to stay there long enough, it would have answered,” said Carrington.  “But when a down-river boat tied up ’there yesterday it was more than I could stand.  You ’see there’s danger in a town like New Madrid of getting too sorry.  I thought we’d better discuss this point—­”