“I thank you, too, Mr. Fortescue,” she said, holding out her slim hand, which the young lieutenant took. “I think our acquaintanceship has had a very auspicious beginning.”
To this Fortescue replied gallantly:
“If it saved you from a fall, I shall certainly consider it most auspicious.”
Then, they looked into each other’s eyes and laughed, as young creatures do who have the sweet and subtle understanding of youth. The Colonel then said:
“Perhaps you know my name—Colonel Beverley—and this is my granddaughter, Miss Elizabeth Beverley. Will you be seated?”
“Grandfather only calls me Elizabeth when he is introducing me, or is very much vexed with me. On all other occasions, I am Betty,” explained Betty gravely.
“Miss Betty Beverley—what a charming name!” answered Fortescue, determined to admire everything concerning this adorable Betty.
Uncle Cesar took Fortescue’s military cloak away, and the young officer sat with his handsome head and elegant figure outlined against the strong light of the window.
“I must beg pardon for my intrusion,” he said to the Colonel, “but I have come upon official business—hence my uniform.”
“I understand, sir,” replied the Colonel. “I have worn both the cadet gray and the army blue. Later, I resigned and spent some tranquil years at Rosehill. When the irrepressible conflict came, I put on a gray uniform, as did my son—my only son—the father of this young lady.”