"In heaven's name, why?"
"For that I am a lonely maid that suffers from a plague of beaux, sir, most of them over young and all of them vastly trying. 'Bewitching Bet'!" This time he did see the scorn of her curling lip. "I had rather you call me anything else—even 'child' or—'Betty.'"
They stood awhile in silence, the Major looking at her and she at the rose: "'Betty'!" said he at last, half to himself, as if trying the sound of it. "'Tis a most—pretty name!"
"I had not thought so," she answered. And there was silence again, he watching where she was heedlessly brushing the rose to and fro across her vivid lips and looking at nothing in particular.
"Your guests await you," said he.
"They often do," she answered.
"I'll go," said the Major and glanced toward the ladder. "Good-bye, my lady."
"Well?" she asked softly.
"And—er—my grateful thanks——"
"Well?" she asked again, softer yet.