During this conversation, Betty sat demurely in her chair. At the mention of compensation, a rosy vision passed before her eyes of a new roof to the kitchen, and possibly a new gown for herself. But when the Colonel magnanimously presented the Government of the United States with the use of his land and as many fence-rails as were necessary for fires, Betty, with a lofty spirit not unlike the Colonel’s, dismissed the hope of repairing the kitchen and the dream of the new gown.
Fortescue, however, had no intention of confining his conversation to the Colonel, and so, looking toward Betty, said:
“This is my first visit to this county.”
“I hope you are pleased with Rosehill,” replied Colonel Beverley. “Rosehill has sheltered seven generations of Beverleys. The present mansion was built by my grandfather, succeeding a smaller house built by the first Beverley of Rosehill.”
“I admire the house very much,” said Fortescue. “I am only sorry that my profession will prevent me from spending much time there.”
“Rosehill is a noble inheritance.”
They were upon delicate ground, but it was impossible that the subject of Rosehill could be avoided at their first meeting. Fortescue congratulated himself on getting smoothly over a difficult subject.
“I hope, however,” he continued, still smiling at Betty, “to make frequent visits here as long as I am stationed on this coast. I believe both the hunting and shooting are fine.”
“Excellent,” said the Colonel. “It has been a good many years since I indulged in either. My granddaughter, however, likes the hunting field.”
“Yes,” answered Betty. “We haven’t a swell hunt club like you have at the North, but our foxes are just as wary and our dogs as intelligent. Day after to-morrow there is to be the grand Christmas hunt.”