"Nor that, sir! I'll not be 'madam-ed' or 'my lady-ed'—by you—any longer."
"Betty! O Betty!" he cried yearningly.
"John!" she sighed, "Jack!" And lifting her head she looked at him with eyes brimful of tears, tears that would not be winked away, so she dabbed at them with her handkerchief and sobbed again. The Major stepped hastily into the arbour.
"Betty?" he questioned in awed wonderment.
"Yes—I'm weeping, sir," she confessed. "I'm shedding—real tears and 'tis not a custom of mine, sir—consequently 'tis not so easy as to faint or—swoon. I hate to—sob and weep, and I—despise tears—besides they hurt me, John." He came a quick step nearer. "O 'tis very cruel to make a poor maid weep—how can you, John dear?"
"I?" he exclaimed aghast, "I—make you weep?"
"Indeed you—you! O cruel!"
"In heaven's name, how—what have I done?"
"Heaped coals of fire, John! Burnt me! Scorched me!"
The Major stared, utterly at a loss and fumbled with one of his tarnished buttons; then, seeing his bewilderment, she laughed through her tears and, choking back her sobs, rose and stretched out her arms to him.