“You know, honestly, Mr. Meadowcroft, Betty is—all right,” he said in a low voice, turning, but keeping his eyes upon the hearth rug. “Things do seem queer—she seems so herself—and—I don’t blame you. You were up against it and just couldn’t do anything else. But there’s something about Betty if you have always known her and are pretty near her age and sort of growing older together, you know, so that—why, you just can’t help believing in her more’n you would in any fellow. And whatever she does, you can’t help feeling somehow it’s—just right.”
Such faith of youth in youth—Credo quia impossibile—touched Humphrey Meadowcroft deeply. He envied the boy, and yet, as he had said to Betty, how could he himself have acted otherwise? One who has had nearly half a century of experience must make use of knowledge painfully won and tested. And a man isn’t the free agent a boy may be.
CHAPTER XXXIV
ON Wednesday afternoon, Betty and Rose set out directly after dinner, ostensibly for Paulding, in reality for Millville, with nine dollars in the little pocket of Betty’s blouse for Dr. Vandegrift. Aunt Sarah had grumbled at her going in holiday time, but Betty’s father had declared she should do as she liked not only to-day but for all the vacation and see if she couldn’t pick up a little before she went back to school.
“It seems funny to talk of your having to pick up, Betty. You have certainly changed a lot in a year,” he declared kindly.
As she flushed, the girl was prettier than ever, and Pogany put his arm about her—she was nearly as tall as he—and drew her awkwardly to himself.
“I like that style of gown on you, Betty,” he observed. “You’ll be wanting spring and summer things soon, and I hope you’ll have ’em all like that or as near like as you can get.”
He turned to his sister. “You’ll remember that, won’t you, Sarah?” he asked. “You see to it that the stuff is good, Betty’ll look after the style, and I’ll foot the bills.”
Betty kissed him gratefully and tried to show a gratification she could not feel. She couldn’t think of anything but of getting over to Millville and seeing Dr. Vandegrift. She had said to herself that they had only to go over for this last time and to pay him for the three visits they had lost. It might be painful explaining, of course, and Dr. Vandegrift might demand three dollars more, but—that was all. And yet, that wasn’t all. Hope dies hard, and there was probably still a spark left in Betty’s breast. Dr. Vandegrift had told them that to lose one visit was extremely hazardous and to lose more than that absolutely fatal. Still, Rose had had and had responded surprisingly to nine treatments with the eye-cup. Wasn’t there a slight chance that all was not lost?
She was very quiet all the way. Rose, however, was full of spirits and laughed and chatted as blithely as ever. And Betty felt that her hope must be far the stronger, and was alternately cheered and appalled by the realization.