he, too, had seen before--twelve years ago
in the face of an objectionable, long-legged child in New York. And his
own hatred of them had been founded in his own opinion on the best of
reasons. And here they gazed at him from the face of a young beauty--for
a beauty she was.

"Damn it!" he exclaimed; "it is Betty."

"Yes," she answered, with a faint, but entirely courteous, smile. "It
is. I hope you are very well."

She held out her hand. "A delicious hand," was what he said to himself,
as he took it. And what eyes for a girl to have in her head were those
which looked out at him between shadows. Was there a hint of the devil
in them? He thought so--he hoped so, since she had descended on the
place in this way. But WHAT the devil was the meaning of her being on
the spot at all? He was, however, far beyond the lack of astuteness
which might have permitted him to express this last thought at this
particular juncture. He was only betrayed into stupid mistakes,
afterwards to be regretted, when rage caused him utterly to lose control
of his wits. And, though he was startled and not exactly pleased, he was
not in a rage now. The eyelashes and the figure gave an agreeable fillip
to his humour. Howsoever she had come, she was worth looking at.

"How could one expect such a delightful thing as this?" he said, with a
touch of ironic amiability. "It is more than one deserves."

"It is very polite of you to say that," answered Betty.

He was thinking rapidly as he stood and gazed at her. There were, in
truth, many things to think of under circumstances so unexpected.

"May I ask you to excuse my staring at you?" he inquired with what Rosy
had called his "awful, agreeable smile." "When I saw you last you were a
fierce nine-year-old American child. I use the word 'fierce' because--if
you'll pardon my saying so--there was a certain ferocity about you."

"I have learned at various educational institutions to conceal it,"
smiled Betty.

"May I ask when you arrived?"

"A short time after you went abroad."

"Rosalie did not inform me of your arrival."

"She did not know your address. You had forgotten to leave it."

He had made a mistake and realised it. But she presented to him no air
of having observed his slip. He paused a few seconds, still regarding
her and still thinking rapidly. He recalled the mended windows and roofs
and palings in the village, the park gates and entrance. Who the devil
had done all that? How cou