“I thank you so much,” said Betty sweetly to Fortescue. “I tended the roses in the greenhouse at Rosehill as long as we lived there. We have no greenhouse here, so we couldn’t bring the rosebushes with us. But I always had roses for Christmas.”
“And I hope you will always have roses for Christmas,” replied Fortescue gallantly.
Then they sat and talked gaily together as young people do, of dances and hunting and all of the great affairs of youth, the Colonel putting in a word occasionally. Fortescue was lucky enough to be asked to all the Christmas parties.
“I should like,” he said, “to give a party at Rosehill, but I don’t know how. I am only a man, you know. I should wish to do it right, but I am afraid I can’t make it quite as it ought to be on short notice. Now, next Christmas, if I can get leave, I will have a party, too. That is, if you, Miss Betty, will help me.”
The Colonel liked the modesty of this speech, and at once said that Betty would help.
Then Betty told the melancholy story of old Whitey’s lameness. Fortunately, Sally Carteret, knowing that old Whitey had to be saved for the hunt, had invited Betty to go with her to the party that evening at Red Plains, which was close by.
”Do you mean,” asked Fortescue, “that you are to miss the hunt?”
“I am afraid so,” said poor Betty dolefully.