“Why, Betty, what in the world do you mean? I never heard you talk that way,” said Lydia, opening her blue eyes in astonishment.
“Well, Lyde, I’ll tell you. I was riding down the river road and just as I came to the end of the clearing a man jumped out from behind some bushes and grasped Madcap’s bridle. Imagine! For a moment I was frightened out of my wits. I instantly thought of the Girtys, who, I have heard, have evinced a fondness for kidnapping little girls. Then the fellow said he was on guard and ordered me, actually commanded me to go home.”
“Oh, is that all?” said Lydia, laughing.
“No, that is not all. He—he said I was a pretty little girl and that he was sorry I could not have my own way; that his present occupation was pleasant, and that the situation had its charm. The very idea. He was most impertinent,” and Betty’s telltale cheeks reddened again at the recollection.
“Betty, I do not think your experience was so dreadful, certainly nothing to put you out as it has,” said Lydia, laughing merrily. “Be serious. You know we are out in the backwoods now and must not expect so much of the men. These rough border men know little of refinement like that with which you have been familiar. Some of them are quiet and never speak unless addressed; their simplicity is remarkable; Lew Wetzel and your brother Jonathan, when they are not fighting Indians, are examples. On the other hand, some of them are boisterous and if they get anything to drink they will make trouble for you. Why, I went to a party one night after I had been here only a few weeks and they played a game in which every man in the place kissed me.”
“Gracious! Please tell me when any such games are likely to be proposed and I’ll stay home,” said Betty.
“I have learned to get along very well by simply making the best of it,” continued Lydia. “And to tell the truth, I have learned to respect these rugged fellows. They are uncouth; they have no manners, but their hearts are honest and true, and that is of much greater importance in frontiersmen than the little attentions and courtesies upon which women are apt to lay too much stress.”
“I think you speak sensibly and I shall try and be more reasonable hereafter. But, to return to the man who spoiled my ride. He, at least, is no frontiersman, notwithstanding his gun and his buckskin suit. He is an educated man. His manner and accent showed that. Then he looked at me so differently. I know it was that soldier from Fort Pitt.”
“Mr. Clarke? Why, of course!” exclaimed Lydia, clapping her hands in glee. “How stupid of me!”
“You seem to be amused,” said Betty, frowning.
“Oh, Betty, it is such a good joke.”
“Is it? I fail to see it.”
“But I can. I am very much amused. You see, I heard Mr. Clarke say, after papa told him there were lots of pretty girls here, that he usually succeeded in finding those things out and without any assistance. And the very first day he has met you and made you angry. It is delightful.”
“Lyde, I never knew you could be so horrid.”
“It is evident that Mr. Clarke is not only discerning, but not backward in expressing his thoughts. Betty, I see a romance.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” retorted Betty, with an angry blush. “Of course, he had a right to stop me, and perhaps he did me a good turn by keeping me inside the clearing, though I cannot imagine why he hid behind the bushes. But he might have been polite. He made me angry. He was so cool and—and—”
“I see,” interrupted Lydia, teasingly. “He failed to recognize your importance.”
“Nonsense, Lydia. I hope you do not think I am a silly little fool. It is only that I have not been accustomed to that kind of treatment, and I will not have it.”
Lydia was rather pleased that someone had appeared on the scene who did not at once bow down before Betty, and therefore she took the young man’s side of the argument.
“Do not be hard on poor Mr. Clarke. Maybe he mistook you for an Indian girl. He is handsome. I am sure you saw that.”
“Oh, I don’t remember how he looked,” said Betty. She did remember, but would not admit it.
The conversation drifted into other channels after this, and soon twilight came stealing down on them. As Betty rose to go there came a hurried tap on the door.
“I wonder who would knock like that,” said Lydia, rising. “Betty, wait a moment while I open the door.”
On doing this she discovered Clarke standing on the step with his cap in his hand.
“Why, Mr. Clarke! Will you come in?” exclaimed Lydia.
“Thank you, only for a moment,” said Alfred. “I cannot stay. I came to find Betty. Is she here?”
He had not observed Betty, who had stepped back into the shadow of the darkening room. At his question Lydia became so embarrassed she did not know what to say or do, and stood looking helplessly at him.
But Betty was equal to the occasion. At the mention of her first name in such a familiar manner by this stranger, who had already grievously offended her once before that day, Betty stood perfectly still a moment, speechless with surprise, then she stepped quickly out of the shadow.
Clarke turned as he heard her step and looked straight into a pair of dark, scornful eyes and a face pale with anger.
“If it be necessary that you use my name, and I do not see how that can be possible, will you please have courtesy enough to say Miss Zane?” she cried haughtily.
Lydia recovered her composure sufficiently to falter out:
“Betty, allow me to introduce—”
“Do not trouble yourself, Lydia. I have met this person once before today, and I
