The laughter was still in his eyes when he looked at Betty. “Now where's the sense of going walking in the rain?” he demanded.
“I didn't,” replied Betty, quickly. “It was clear when I started, and the clouds came up before I knew it. I had been across the fields to the woods, and I was coming home along the turnpike.” She loosened her hair, and kneeling upon the smooth stones, dried it before the flames. As she shook the curling ends a sparkling shower of rain drops was scattered over Dan.
“Well, I don't see much sense in that,” he returned slowly, with his gaze upon her.
She laughed and held out her moist hands to the fire. “Well, there was more than you see,” she responded pleasantly, and added, while she smiled at him with narrowed eyes, “dear me, you've grown so much older.”
“And you've grown so much prettier,” he retorted boldly.
A flush crossed her face, and her look grew a little wistful. “The rain has bewitched you,” she said.
“You may call me a fool if you like,” he pursued, as if she had not spoken, “but I did not know until to-day that you had the most beautiful hair in the world. Why, it is always sunshine about you.” He put out his hand to touch a loose curl that hung upon her shoulder, then drew it quickly back. “I don't suppose I might,” he asked humbly.
Betty gathered up her hair with shaking hands, which gleamed white in the firelight, and carelessly twisted it about her head.
“It is not nearly so pretty as Virginia's,” she said in a low voice.
“Virginia's? Oh, nonsense!” he exclaimed, and walked rapidly up and down the room.