"Mistress Betty," said a voice just behind her, and with a little start she realized that the obnoxious scarlet coat had reached her side, "will you skate a turn with me down the pond?"
"Surely," and Betty's most roguish smile beamed into Yorke's eyes as she wheeled toward him. "Perhaps you will try a race with me, Captain Yorke?"
"With pleasure, and for what stakes?" returned Yorke, bending down to secure a strap which he felt loosen.
"I meant but a trial of speed to the bridge there, where we cross the Minetta Water. A stake? Well, name it."
"A knot of rose-colored ribbon," said Yorke softly.
"Another!" cried Betty unguardedly, and could have promptly bitten her tongue for the betrayal of her thought.
"Ah, then you do remember?" asked Yorke. "In what have I so deeply offended that I can scarce gain speech of you! Why do you flout one who longs to show you his devotion?"
"You forget, sir," said Betty coldly, "the coat you wear. Do you fancy that scarlet commends itself to a rebel maid like me, or that the cause you represent can be aught but hateful to a loyal Wolcott?"
"Betty, Betty! I do beseech you"—
"Nay, we will put entreaty outside the question. A race, I think I said, Captain Yorke. I will make the stake that self-same bow of rose-color—if you have kept it so long."