“You were over to see Norton, weren't you, Bet? How did you find him?” he asked abruptly.
“The doctor says he will soon be about again,” answered Betty.
Tom stroked his chin and gazed at her reflectively.
“Betty, I wish you wouldn't go there again—that's a good girl!” he said tactfully, and as he conceived it, affectionately, even, paving the way for an exercise of whatever influence might be his, a point on which he had no very clear idea. Betty glanced up quickly.
“Why, Tom, why shouldn't I go there?” she demanded.
“It might set people gossiping. I reckon there's been pretty near enough talk about you and Charley Norton. A young girl can't be too careful.” The planter's tone was conciliatory in the extreme, he dared not risk a break by any open show of authority.
“You needn't distress yourself, Tom. I don't know that I shall go there again,” said Betty indifferently.
“I wouldn't if I were you.” He was charmed to find her so reasonable. “You know it isn't the thing for a young girl to call on a man, you'll get yourself talked about in a way you won't like—take my word for it! If you want to be kind and neighborly send one of the boys over to ask how he is—or bake a cake with your own hands, but you keep away. That's the idea!—send him something to eat, something you've made yourself, he'll appreciate that.”
“I'm afraid he couldn't eat it if I did, Tom. It's plain you have no acquaintance with my cooking,” said Betty, laughing.
“Did Norton say if he had any idea as to the identity of the men who robbed him?” inquired Tom casually.