"What is your name?" he asked.
"Betty!"
"Betty!" His voice lingered over the pretty, girlish name. "Thank you,
Betty!"
"And yours?"
"Ralph."
"Thank you, Ralph! You have given me something real to think of in
life--something to look forward to."
"Ah!" He drew a long, stabbing breath. "But at the best it will be a
long waiting. You will be far from eighteen--`nearly eighteen'--before
I can hope for success. The years will seem very long."
"But they will pass!" cried Betty. "I can wait!"
She was in a state of exaltation when no trial of patience seemed too
great to face, and difficulties presented themselves only as glorious
opportunities; but the man, who had experienced the heat and burden of
the day, sighed, and was silent.
By this time they had made their way past the great houses standing back
from the road, and were close on the Lancaster Gate Station of the
Central London Railway. A faint light streamed into the gloom from the
glass fanlight, and for the first time Betty began to feel that she trod
on familiar ground.
"Ah, here we are; if we go round this corner I shall be home in five
minutes. Perhaps we shall arrive before the others, after all. You
have brought me so quickly that there is no time for them to have been
anxious, unless Miles went in alone."
The stranger did not answer. They turned round the corner of Stanhope
Terrace and walked along for twenty or thirty yards, then suddenly he
stood still, and dropped her arm.
"I may never meet you again," he said slowly; "in all probability we
never shall meet, but before we part, let me see your face, Betty!"
There was a sound of a match being struck against the side of a box,
then a tiny flame flickered up in the darkness. Betty gazed upwards
into a face still young, but haggard and drawn with suffering, a long
thin face with deep-set eyes and a well-cut chin.
"Now, now, now," she was saying breathlessly to herself. "I must
notice! I must remember! I shall have to remember for so many years--"
The flame quivered and faded away.
"Thank you," said the stranger quietly. "I shall remember!" Evidently
his thoughts and hers had followed the same course.
They walked along slowly side by side, but no longer arm in arm, for
that momentary exchange of glances had brought a touch of personal
embarrassment into the situation which had been unfelt before. Betty
was anxiously pondering what to say in farewell, feeling at the same
time that further words would be more likely to mar than to aid the
impression already made, when suddenly a form loomed through the
darkness, and a well-known "Coo-ee" sounded in her ears.
"Miles--oh, Miles! I'm here! Oh, Miles, I am so glad! I was so
frightened, but this gentleman has been so kind. He has brought me all
the way home."
Miles grunted discourteously; he disapproved of stray acquaintances for
his sister, and now that anxiety for her safety was assuaged, began to
feel aggrieved at having been frightened for nothing.
"What on earth did you mean by rushing off by yourself? Might have been
lost all night. I've been hanging about for an age, not daring to go
into the house and scare the mater. Never go out with you again in a
fog!"
Betty laughed merrily.
"I can return that compliment. It seems to me that you ran away from
me." She turned to hold out her hand to the stranger. "Now that my
brother is here I need not trouble you any more. Good-bye! Thank you
very much!"
"Thank you!" he said earnestly. "Good-bye until--a brighter day."
"What does that bounder mean by talking of another day? Cheek!" grunted
Miles, leading the way onward, but Betty only pressed his arm and
replied irrelevantly--
"Don't say anything about our having missed each other when we first go
in, Miles. I'll tell mother quietly. I'd rather, if you don't mind."
Miles did not mind a bit--in fact, he was thankful to be spared
questioning and reproach, so he made his way upstairs to his room, while
Betty entered the study, where Dr and Mrs Trevor were seated.
"Here we are, safe and sound! It has been adventurous, but all's well
that ends well. Have you been anxious, mother dear? I do hope not."
She bent to kiss her mother with an unwonted tenderness, which brought a
flush of pleasure into the thin cheek.
"How sweet that child looks to-night! Did you notice?" she said to her
husband when they were once more alone. "And she was so gentle and
considerate. It's such a pleasure to see her like that, for she is
sometimes so difficult."
Dr Trevor smiled.
"She is mellowing, dear, she is mellowing! I told you it would come.
The child is turning into a woman--and a bonnie woman she will be too.
Dear little Betty!"
And in the shelter of her attic bedroom the child woman was holding a
lighted candle before the looking-glass, and staring half abashed into
an oval face with dilated eyes, and dark hair twisted by the damp into a
cloud of tiny ringlets.
"Did he--did he think me--nice?" she was asking of herself.