“See, Granddaddy!” cried Betty, running up the steps and shaking the brush at the Colonel. “Mr. Fortescue won it and gave it to me.”
“Most complimentary of Mr. Fortescue,” said the Colonel, giving a splendid military salute to Fortescue.
The Colonel was glad that his little granddaughter had received the compliment, because, being more worldly wise than Betty, he understood what the fall meant from Rosehill to Holly Lodge. But the kind and hospitable county people saw no difference, and Betty Beverley of Holly Lodge received the same attentions as Betty Beverley of Rosehill.
The Colonel invited the young officers in to have a toddy, to which they promptly agreed, eating and drinking and dancing being obligations of a high order in that community. The Colonel, standing grandly, glass in hand, gave his favorite toast:
“Gentlemen, accept the assurances of my distinguished consideration.”
Then, with many promises to meet again that evening, and engagements for dances, Fortescue and his friends mounted and rode away, and Betty, after telling the Colonel the incidents of the hunt, went up to her little room to catch a few hours of sleep; for sleep had to be caught at odd times during Christmas week.
Again that night and every night was a dance, each a repetition of the other, for there was not much room for variety, and the same resources were at the command of all. Fortescue, imbibing the hearty spirit of the community, longed, as he had said at Holly Lodge, to have a ball at Rosehill, but a certain delicacy and tenderness toward Betty and the Colonel hindered him. He did not like to assume too quickly the rôle of the master of Rosehill, and, then, a dream was dawning upon him of a ball at Rosehill, where Betty should be the chatelaine and receive with him. They made great strides toward intimacy, and once in the maze of the last waltz before daybreak Fortescue chose to forget the “Miss” to Betty’s name and in her ear called her “Betty.” Betty pretended not to hear it, but it thrilled her from head to foot.
Fortescue was no laggard in love, but he had the chivalrous, old-fashioned notion that a girl was to be courted, and that he had to show his devotion in other ways than by many dances with Betty and visits to Holly Lodge before he could dare to ask Betty for the royal treasure of her love. Perhaps, he thought, in six months, by showing her unvarying attention and remembrance, he might dare to speak the winged word, and possibly Betty might then condescend to listen to him. For Fortescue, in a simple, manly way, was as unsophisticated as Betty. Moreover, he had a deadly fear of the Colonel, and considered that he had entered upon a regular campaign, instead of merely attempting a sortie upon the enemy.