“Gardy!”
“Don’t!” I moaned. “Go back—get in the canoe; go back to George—alone—quick!”
“Gardy!”
She placed her fingers on my arm. And I turned around and faced her, because I could not do otherwise. Then suddenly all the winds in the world seemed to be pressing upon me, drawing, coaxing, forcing me toward her. One agonized cry my conscience sent up in protest at the wrong I did. Then I swept her to me; I held her against my breast; I kissed her; then tore myself away.
Slowly, painfully I lifted my gaze from the ground to take my punishment from her eyes. And then my heart leaped and stopped within me. For Betty, with her hands clasped rapturously before her, was looking up at me with the soft flame of grateful happiness in her expression.
“Oh, Gardy, Gardy!” She swayed her shoulders a little. “Then you do care for me; you do—you do—don’t you?”
“Betty!”
“Oh, oh!” She teetered up and down on her toes, unable to contain herself. “He cares for her; he isn’t going to leave little Betty all lonesome and unhappy!”
I saw her and heard her in a half-daze.
“Betty!” I cried. “What does this mean?”