“The meter is very poor—so poor I threw my poem away—but the music is lovely and you sing awfully well,” Bettina conceded, finding herself not so bored by her companion as she always had been in the past. But then, they had scarcely been together for a ten-minutes’ conversation alone in their entire acquaintance before tonight, both Bettina and Ralph having taken pains to avoid it.
“Anacoana, Flower of Gold, is your Camp Fire name, isn’t it?” Ralph continued, gazing somewhat sentimentally at Bettina with his hazel-brown eyes. His hair was nearly the same color, and his teeth strong and white. Indeed, the only contradictory thing in Ralph’s appearance was his mouth, which was fine and clearly cut—contradicting the weakness of the rest of his face.
This time Bettina was annoyed. It was useless to try to be sensible with Ralph Marshall, as he was always under the impression that he must be languishing when talking to a girl.
And Bettina did not like this; neither did she know exactly how to behave under the circumstances. It would have been simple enough to have laughed Ralph into better judgment of her and of the situation. But Bettina was no longer sufficiently at ease.
“Oh, that is rather an absurd name which my father once chose for me as a Camp Fire name and by which I have been embarrassed ever since,” she answered coldly, not returning her companion’s gaze, but sitting up stiffly.
Her attitude gave Ralph the desire to flee. Bettina was a literary iceberg, after all! But how escape when one was lying at full length on the ground gazing with at least an appearance of ardor upon an unresponsive maiden, unless some one came to the rescue?
Ralph glanced about and suppressed a sigh of relief.
Terry Benton and a girl were coming toward them.
And Bettina was equally relieved by the vision of Sally Ashton—a Sally no longer suggesting the least appearance of sleepiness, or of anything but sweetness and animation. It is curious, but there are a number of girls in this world—and an equal number of women—who really never do wake up until something masculine appears upon their horizon.
Sally was laughing and talking, her cheeks crimson and her big brown eyes shining.