Betty was a woman! Not by virtue of the simple white dress that
clung to her tall, slender figure, revealing lines of exquisite
grace and litheness; not by virtue of the glossy masses of dark
brown hair heaped high on her head and held there in wonderful
shining coils; not by virtue of added softness of curve and
daintiness of outline; not because of all these, but because of
the dream and wonder and seeking in her eyes. She was a woman,
looking, all unconscious of her quest, for love.
The understanding of the change in her came home to me with a
shock that must have left me, I think, something white about the
lips. I was glad. She was what I had wished her to become. But
I wanted the child Betty back; this womanly Betty seemed far away
from me.
I stepped out into the path and she saw me, with a brightening of
her whole face. She did not rush forward and fling herself into
my arms as she would have done a year ago; but she came towards
me swiftly, holding out her hand. I had thought her slightly
pale when I had first seen her; but now I concluded I had been
mistaken, for there was a wonderful sunrise of color in her face.
I took her hand--there were no kisses this time.
"Welcome home, Betty," I said.
"Oh, Stephen, it is so good to be back," she breathed, her eyes
shining.
She did not say it was good to see me again, as I had hoped she
would do. Indeed, after the first minute of greeting, she seemed
a trifle cool and distant.
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