Charles flushed. This seemed something of a pickle. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t understand.”
Betty, having achieved that victory, sat back and opened a large album, which she presently spread out across her knees, and his, and leaned very close to him in order to point to the pictures of principal interest.
After many oh’s and ah’s, Charles noticed a distinguished individual and said: “There’s another man, I suppose, who could make a woman happy.”
“Why, yes,” said Betty, “that’s Uncle Alfred. But he’s the romantic type—like you. He hasn’t got a cent of money because he spends it as fast as he gets it. I’m sure Aunt Susan must have been very much in love with him before she married him.”
“Hm,” said Charles, “you seem to emphasize the economic side of things to-night.”
Betty looked at him quietly. “I always make a point of it when I’m with you,” she said; “but look here—that’s me when I was six.”
Charles leaned as far over toward her as possible, in order to get a clear view of the situation. She offered no objection. Presently they were talking very seriously about his future.
Suddenly Charles said: “I say, Betty, are you engaged to—that—that young gentleman?”
Betty eyed him. “Of course not,” she said. “Whatever put that into your head?”
“Oh nothing, except that you have been continually praising him all evening; and I thought perhaps you had some reason for it.”