The following day after school Betty stopped to report her unsuccess to Mr. Meadowcroft. She softened the refusal as well as she could, and he asked no embarrassing questions. Quite likely he understood.
“Very well, then, I shall be obliged to go to see her,” he remarked surprisingly.
Betty looked at him incredulously.
“How about right now—would this be a favorable moment, Betty?” he asked.
“Why, I don’t know—I mean, yes, sir, Mrs. Harrow would be home, but——”
The girl raised her soft eyes deprecatingly. But Mr. Meadowcroft apparently did not heed their appeal. He started to wheel himself over to the speaking tube. Then he reached for his crutches, pulled himself up, and hobbled across the room on them, awkwardly and with the impression of painfulness, Betty white and breathless the while, with downcast eyes. He ordered the carriage brought to the side door at once.
He bade Betty wait, saying he would take her home first. But when they got in, he gave the man the order to drive straight to the Harrow cottage. Betty longed to protest, but, child as she was, she understood that she couldn’t do that.
“I’ll do my very best, Betty,” he assured her, “and if you want to know the result, I shall be back at the house about five—surely by quarter past. And if you want to run in, you shall hear all about it.”
“O, I do!” cried the girl eagerly. “I’ll be so very glad to come, and—O, Mr. Meadowcroft, you are so very good to do this. I shall always remember it—all my life.”
“Nonsense! it’s nothing at all,” he declared. “But I’ll do my level best.”