SAUCY BETTY MORK. I. “But, Miss Bessie—” “But “I have told you a dozen times, Mr. Granton, that my name is not Bessie. I abhor that final ie; and more than that, I was christened Betty,—plain Betty,—and Betty I will be.” “Miss Betty, then, if that suits you; though why you should be so particular about that old-fashioned name, I’m sure I can’t conceive.” “In the first place, it is my name,” Betty replied, bending upon him a glance at once bewitching and tantalizing; “that ought to count for something; and in the second place, my family name isn’t one that lends itself to soft prefixes. Besides all which, there has been a Betty Mork from time immemorial; and I shall never be one to spoil the line by changing my name.” “What?” Mr. Granton demanded mischievously. “Never change it? Are you vowed to eternal single blessedness, then, or[104] shall you imitate the women’s-rights women, who—” [104] “It is really none of your affair what I intend to do,” returned she, bridling; “only, to go back to what we started on, I do intend to play in the tournament with Frank Bradford. I am not in the habit of breaking my promises.” The pair walked along the shady country road without speaking for a moment or two, the young man inclined to be sulky, his companion saucy and good-natured. The dropping sunshine, falling through the gently waving elm-boughs, struck golden lights out of Miss Mork’s abundant chestnut hair,—her one beauty, it amused her to call it, although the smile which brought out her dimples and the lustre of her eyes contradicted the words even while they were being spoken. Young Granton was fully alive to the attractiveness of the lithe figure beside him; indeed, for his own peace of mind, far too keenly. He was aware, too, of the difficulty of managing the wilful beauty, whose independence was sufficiently understood by all the summer idlers at Maugus. “But you certainly knew I expected you to play in the tournament with me,” he began again, returning to the attack.
Prev.
Back
Top