“I don't know what more you want,” replied Mrs. Lightfoot, tartly. “If he ever gets clean again after a whole night in a common gaol, I must say I don't see how he'll manage it. But if you aren't satisfied I can only tell you that the affair was all about some bar-room wench, and that the papers will be full of it. Not that the boy was anything but foolish,” she added hastily. “I'll do him the justice to admit that he's more of a fool than a villain—and I hardly know whether it's a compliment that I'm paying him or not. He got some quixotic notion into his head that Harry Maupin insulted the girl in his presence, and he called him to account for it. As if the honour of a barkeeper's daughter was the concern of any gentleman!”
“Oh!” cried Betty, and caught her breath. The word went out of her in a sudden burst of joy, but the joy was so sharp that a moment afterwards she hid her wet face in the bedclothes and sobbed softly to herself.
“I don't think Mr. Lightfoot would have taken it so hard but for Virginia,” said the old lady, with her keen eyes on the girl. “You know he has always wanted to bring Dan and Virginia together, and he seems to think that the boy has been dishonourable about it.”
“But Virginia doesn't care—she doesn't care,” protested Betty.
“Well, I'm glad to hear it,” returned Mrs. Lightfoot, relieved, “and I hope the foolish boy will stay away long enough for his grandfather to cool off. Mr. Lightfoot is a high-tempered man, my child. I've spent fifty years in keeping him at peace with the world. There now, run down and cheer him up.”
She lay back among her pillows, and Betty leaned over and kissed her with cold lips before she dried her eyes and went downstairs to find the Major.
With the first glance at his face she saw that Dan's cause was hopeless for the hour, and she set herself, with a cheerful countenance, to a discussion of the trivial happenings of the day. She talked pleasantly of the rector's sermon, of the morning reading with Mrs. Lightfoot, and of a great hawk that had appeared suddenly in the air and raised an outcry among the turkeys on the lawn. When these topics were worn threadbare she bethought herself of the beauty of the autumn woods, and lamented the ruined garden with its last sad flowers.
The Major listened gloomily, putting in a word now and then, and keeping his weak red eyes upon his plate. There was a heavy cloud on his brow, and the flush that Betty had learned to dread was in his face. Once when she spoke carelessly of Dan, he threw out an angry gesture and inquired if she “found Mrs. Lightfoot easier to-night?”
“Oh, I think so,” replied the girl, and then, as they rose from the table, she slipped her hand through his arm and went with him into the library.
“Shall I sit with you this evening?” she asked timidly. “I'd be so glad to read to you, if you would let me.”