Not an hour of these bustling days had been so full, but I had felt the blank of Eric's silence. And now again I met the ache of loss with: This will teach you! You were dreading a little time away. He adds a week to our parting. He doesn't mind. It's only you, poor fool—only you who mind.
I looked round, in a sudden terror, lest anyone should be noticing that my eyes were wet.
Mercifully, the people were all looking at Betty. I looked at Betty, too. I could not see her eyes, but the nearer cheek was that lovely colour whose name she gave once to an evening sky. We had come up on the top of a knoll and stood for a moment, breathless. My mother had said no painter could get such a colour. And neither were there any words in the language to describe it. For it was not red, not flame, not pink, nor orange. But Betty, looking steadily, had found the right words for it: "A fiery rose."
And that was the colour in Betty's cheeks on the way to London.
No wonder people looked at her. There was a man who got out of the first-class carriage next us at every station, and walked by our window. He looked in at Bettina. I was glad our carriage was full. I felt sure, if it had not been, he would have come in. I could see Bettina did not resent the staring. And then I saw her look out of the corner of her eyes.
"Bettina!" I whispered. "Don't encourage that strange man to stare in here."
"Me?" she said. "What am I doing?"
I told her again that she encouraged him. But I was handicapped by not being able to say just how. I admitted that what she did was very slight. But it was enough. "It was what you did to Eddie Monmouth." Then, because she pretended not to understand, I told her that she was falling into bad deceitful ways. I knew she had written to Ranny Dallas.... Yes, and kept writing, though the moment I realised what was going on I wrote to Ranny myself. I said if any more letters came from him, I should have to tell Betty about the girl in Norfolk. Ranny wrote back that he had told Betty himself! And still they went on corresponding, secretly. I said to her now, that I should hardly be surprised if she was hoping to meet Ranny in London.
"Oh, one may 'hope' almost anything," said Betty airily.
"Not of a man who is engaged to another girl!"