"P.S. I am taking the liberty of bringing an old friend down with me. I know in such a mansion as Homewood, there are many rooms, may I hope that I am not encroaching in asking that one may be reserved for one for whom you once had a kindly feeling."
Kathleen smiled a little and frowned a little over this letter. It was like her father, he wrote as he spoke. But who was the friend? She hardly gave it a thought, there were so many old friends, was there one for whom she had once had a kindly feeling? She doubted it. Her father, in the old days, had commanded her ready affection at all times for any opulent acquaintance from whom he was hopeful of extracting money. This was in all probability another victim. So Kathleen put the letter aside and forgot all about it, except that she asked Mrs. Crozier to have another room prepared.
She told Mrs. Crozier now, lest she might forget it.
"Oh, my lady," said the housekeeper, "there's that little Betty Hanson who came yesterday, she is waiting your ladyship's pleasure."
"I had not forgotten," Kathleen said. "Will you send her up to my room?"
She smiled at Allan. "My new maid," she said, "the one I told you about, the little girl from the cottage down the road, such a pretty little thing, I am sure you will admire her!"
Allan smiled when she had gone out, he wondered if other wives bespoke their husband's admiration for new maids in this way? Then his smile drifted away and he frowned a little, had Kathleen loved him—she would have been more jealous of his admiration—loved him! How good she was, what a sweet, lovely nature hers was, and how utterly unworthy of her was he!
Had she loved him? Yet, why should he wish for her love when he had given her none of his own? None? No, he did not love her, not as a man should love the wife he has married. He liked her, admired her, respected her, above all living women. She shared with his father the whole of his heart, but it was not "the love," not the passion of young manhood, the worshipping, devouring, all selfish and yet all unselfish love that surely she was worthy to awaken in his breast.
"Betty!" Who had said "Betty"? Who had uttered that name? Mrs. Crozier of course, she had told Kathleen that Betty Hanson was here, but the name awakened memories, memories of that dream. "Her" name had been Betty, had she not told him with her red lips, "Thy Betty," she had said, and he had been "her Allan."
Betty, nonsense! This Betty would be a big bouncing, red cheeked, bold eyed, healthy country girl! As for Betty of his dreams, there was no place for her now in his busy life. There was much to be done. He had taken up farming wholeheartedly, not for ever would he live on his father's bounty. He would improve the place, make it almost self-supporting. He would prove to his father and Kathleen that there was something in him and that he was not merely an idler and a dreamer. So he filled his pipe and lighted it and went out to have a long talk with old Custance at One Tree Hill Farm. For Custance, though old, seemed to be the most progressive man in the place and already he and Allan had laid their heads together and had discussed ways and means to wring money from the fertile soil.