The other young sparks, who
had haunted Glenby, faded away after his advent. Betty treated
him with most encouraging sweetness; Sara smiled on him; I stood
in the background, like a benevolent god of the machine, and
flattered myself that I pulled the strings.
At the end of a month something went wrong. Frank came home from
Glenby one day in the dumps, and moped for two whole days. I
rode down myself on the third. I had not gone much to Glenby
that month; but, if there were trouble Bettyward, it was my duty
to make smooth the rough places.
As usual, I found Betty in the pineland. I thought she looked
rather pale and dull...fretting about Frank no doubt. She
brightened up when she saw me, evidently expecting that I had
come to straighten matters out; but she pretended to be haughty
and indifferent.
"I am glad you haven't forgotten us altogether, Stephen," she
said coolly. "You haven't been down for a week."
"I'm flattered that you noticed it," I said, sitting down on a
fallen tree and looking up at her as she stood, tall and lithe,
against an old pine, with her eyes averted. "I shouldn't have
supposed you'd want an old fogy like myself poking about and
spoiling the idyllic moments of love's young dream."
"Why do you always speak of yourself as old?" said Betty,
crossly, ignoring my reference to Frank.
"Because I am old, my dear. Witness these gray hairs."
I pushed up my hat to show them the more recklessly.
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