Bettyward, it was my duty to make smooth the rough places.
As usual, I found Betty in the pineland. I thought she looked rather pale and dull … fretting about Frank no doubt. She brightened up when she saw me, evidently expecting that I had come to straighten matters out; but she pretended to be haughty and indifferent.
“I am glad you haven’t forgotten us altogether, Stephen,” she said coolly. “You haven’t been down for a week.”
“I’m flattered that you noticed it,” I said, sitting down on a fallen tree and looking up at her as she stood, tall and lithe, against an old pine, with her eyes averted. “I shouldn’t have supposed you'd want an old fogy like myself poking about and spoiling the idyllic moments of love’s young dream.”
“Why do you always speak of yourself as old?” said Betty, crossly, ignoring my reference to Frank.
“Because I am old, my dear. Witness these gray hairs.”
I pushed up my hat to show them the more recklessly.
Betty barely glanced at them.
“You have just enough to give you a distinguished look,” she said, “and you are only forty. A man is in his prime at forty. He never has any
