“It is so wonderful that I don’t know what to say!” cried Betty. “And—there’s June to look forward to after all!”
Meadowcroft smiled. “We’ll have to have a jolly summer whether we wish it or not,” he declared. “If I remain in South Paulding, my sister will make me promise to do all sorts of things for my health. And of course, taking Miss Bingham away from her holidays, we’ve got to make it up to her and give her as much enjoyment as we can. By the way—” he smiled—“she is expecting rather a marvel in you, Betty.”
“In me! In Rose, you mean.”
“Not at all. I told her about Rose and of her mother’s methods and how you suddenly stepped in, picked up Rose, put her on her feet and kept her there. I had always thought myself, you know, that it was mighty decent of you, as Tommy would say; but you should have heard her rave about it. You really have a lot before you, Betty Pogany, to live up to her expectations.”
He rang for the carriage.
But praise was the last thing Betty Pogany wanted. She had craved pardon and she would have accepted any amount of reproach or undertaken any penalty.
“But didn’t you tell her how you started it, Mr. Meadowcroft?” she protested. “I never should have dreamed of doing it if you hadn’t put it into my head! It really wasn’t me at all.”
“I’ll tell you what I did. I assigned the credit where it was due,” he said cryptically.
As he bade her good-night, he was struck anew by the almost tragic alteration in the girl.
“Dear me, Betty, I wish there were something I could do for you—for your very own self. Isn’t there something particularly jolly you could do these last two days of your holidays to make you forget the burdens you have been carrying and turn you back into a little girl again?”