Bettina, lonely in her tower, had often looked across enviously to the brilliantly lighted yacht club on the nights of the weekly dances.

And now she was going to a yacht club dance with Justin in attendance, and with Sophie for chaperon; with Sara and Doris and Sara's brother Duke to be added to the party when they reached the club-house pier.

The question of Bettina's gown had been a puzzling one. Sophie had brought out everything of her own, and Diana, white-faced after a sleepless night, had tried to put her mind on the matter.

"These are all too elaborate," she said; "she is such a child. Perhaps it will be best for her to get some new things now, and if you will help her choose them, it will be a great favor to me, Sophie."

Sophie came over and kissed her. "Poor dear," she murmured.

Diana leaned back against her friend. "Don't," she said in a stifled voice. "I can't bear it."

They clung together for a moment, then Diana went on steadily, "I am going to town for a few days, Sophie—I must get away for a bit, and if you don't mind, you can take Bettina in while I am gone and get her things. She insists that they shall not be gifts from me. She says that she's already under great obligations—and that her own little bank account is sufficient for her needs. Then, too, she can use all of her new things in her trousseau, and it does seem rather sensible, doesn't it?"

Diana had said nothing to Sophie of the meeting with Anthony in the empty house. It was an experience too sacred for discussion. But Sophie had guessed much. Anthony's continued absence, Diana's restlessness, her haggard eyes, her insistent tenderness and care of Bettina, showed the sympathetic and anxious friend that something unusual had occurred, and that Diana was fighting a tremendous battle alone.

"Just let things run on here," Diana said, "as they always do. You can take my place as Bettina's chaperon, and Delia will take care of the house. I shan't be missed, and I can—get a perspective on the situation."

Sophie protested. "It's too great a strain on you—you'd better send Bettina away—she and I could have a little trip somewhere."

"No, it is I who must go," Diana insisted. "Bettina must get acquainted with Anthony's friends. If he is going to marry her, he must be proud of her. You know that, Sophie," sharply, "it won't do for him to take a girl as the mistress of his home whom nobody ever heard of, and who could be criticized."

Sophie rubbed her fingers lightly across Diana's forehead. "You think only of Anthony—do you never think of yourself?"

Diana stood up. "It's because I think of how foolish I have been," she said, "that I can get no rest. I should never have come back to America, Sophie."

"But, dearest-dear, how could you know?"

"I couldn't know. But, oh, I wish that I had never come."

Thus it happened that Sophie and Bettina had gone into town, and the primrose gown and the little serge suit and the new hats and the five pairs of shoes, together with a wonderful creation for the yacht club dance, had been sent out, and tried on, and pronounced perfect.

Sophie's taste had supplemented Bettina's meager funds. From her own store of exquisite laces and brocades, of buckles and bows, she had added finishing touches to frocks which might otherwise have been commonplace.

When, therefore, on the day after her adventure with Justin Bettina took off her wrap in the cloak room of the yacht club, Sara Duffield drew a sharp breath of amazement.

"Will you look at that gown, Doris?" she said to her placid friend. "Would any one but an artist have dared to put on that side sash of rose-colored tulle with the silver tassel, and the wide collar of silver lace?"

Justin Ford, knowing nothing of dressmakers, was none the less aware of the inspired creation.

"And I said yesterday that you could not wear pink! But this isn't pink, is it? It's a rosy cloud on a May morning."

"Do you really like it?" demanded Bettina.

"I love—it."

Bettina laughed light-heartedly. It was great fun to have such a friendly understanding with this very charming young man. She wondered how she had quite—dared. Things seemed so different under this blaze of light. Had she really promised to be a "little sister" to this most distinguished gentleman?

They had come over in Bobbie's motor boat, and just before they reached the club-house pier, Justin had said, "The first dance is mine, you know. I'd like the second and the third, but I suppose that is forbidden. But you must give me all you can. I feel that I have special brotherly privileges."

She danced exquisitely, her little satin-shod feet slipping silently through all the difficult twists and turns of the syncopated modern dances. Justin, guiding her expertly, knew that many glances were being leveled at them, knew that questions were being asked, that Bettina was being weighed in the social balance by the men and women who could make her success secure.

When he gave her over, presently, to another partner he became aware of undercurrents. The girl with whom he danced shrugged her shoulders when he spoke with enthusiasm of Bettina's beauty.

"Sara was telling me," she said, "that she used to live in the old Lane mansion, and that Diana Gregory has taken her up."

"Sara?"

Justin looked across the room to where Sara was dancing with Bobbie. And he made up his mind that before the evening was ended he should have something to say to the haughty little lady in blue.

His opportunity came, presently, when he claimed Sara for a Spanish variation of the ever-popular Boston, in which his step particularly suited hers.

"Look here," he remarked, as they swayed to the music, "it's up to us, Sara, to see that Bettina makes a hit."

Sara, tilting her chin, demanded, "Why?"

"Because she is Diana Gregory's friend, and Diana's anxious to have people like her."

"Why?"

He gazed down at the irritating profile.

"You know why," he said with great distinctness. "Diana Gregory has a big heart, and this child has had a hard time. Diana wants to make her happy——"

"But why is Diana so interested, Justin? There are plenty of lonely and unhappy girls. So why should Diana especially pick out Bettina? She's years younger than Diana, and they really haven't much in common."

"She's very sweet——" Justin was quite unaware of the intense fervor of his tones.

Sara's eyes narrowed to little flashing points, as she asked, "Are you in love with her?"

Their eyes met. "Oh, Sara, Sara," he teased, "do you expect me to wear my heart upon my sleeve?"

"I expect you to keep it from wandering toward the daughter of an Italian singer," she said, sharply. "I always fancied that you had rather decided ideas about family, Justin."

"If you mean that I'm proud of my Knickerbocker ancestry, I am," he told her; "just as you are proud of your Pilgrim forefathers. But Bettina Dolce's blood is bluer than any that ran in the veins of our middle-class English and Dutch grandsires. Her father was a Venetian, and Bettina has the beauty of those lovely ladies of old Italy."

Sara's beauty was of an essentially modern type. "I don't see," she said, somewhat resentfully, "why I should be expected to fight the social battles of a girl who is really nothing to me."

"Surely not," easily, "but I rather fancy that any one who snubs Bettina will have to reckon with Diana—and with me——"

Sara's lashes hid her sharp little eyes. She was thinking rapidly. She did not care to offend Diana—but more, oh, much more than that, she did not care to offend Justin.

She capitulated pensively. "Why, Justin, I don't know why you are calling me to account in this way. I'm sure I'm perfectly willing to help things along."

"Good," was his delighted comment, and after that he danced with a heart as light as his heels.

When the music stopped, Duke Duffield made his way toward them. "Oh, look here," he said to his sister; "why didn't you present me sooner to Miss Dolce? Gee, Sara, she's some dream—and her dance card was filled before I could get to it."

Justin smiled at this slangy confirmation of his own opinion. He drifted presently through the room, looking for Bettina, and just as the music began again its rhythmical beat he saw her.

Far at the other end of the room she was dancing with Anthony Blake!

Bettina had never been so happy. Anthony's coming had pleased her. He had half promised that he might come, but there had been, as always, the possibility in the background that he would be kept away by some inconsiderate patient. But now he was here, and she was to have her next dance with Justin. Could anything be lovelier than to spend her evening thus between lover and friend, having Anthony's strength and kindliness to make her feel secure, and Justin's glowing youth to match her own.

She decided that when she and Anthony were alone she would tell him about the race in the storm, and about her friendly compact with Justin. She was never going to keep anything from Anthony. Why, he was the best man in the whole wide world—the very best.

She looked up at him with her eyes like stars and he, meeting that radiant glance, asked, "Are you happy, child?"

She blushed and nodded. "Very, very happy!"

And after that she danced in dreamy silence until Justin came for her.

At supper, Anthony claimed Bettina as a matter of course, leaving Mrs. Martens to Justin. The four of them, with Bobbie and Doris and Sara and her brother ate at a little table on the club-house porch. In the pale light of the lanterns Bettina's beauty was more than ever ethereal.

Justin, watching her with puzzled eyes, took note of her dependence upon Anthony, of her confiding manner, of her undoubted interest in him. Now and then she flashed a glance at Justin, and he was forced to content himself with such occasional crumbs from the queen's table.

But he grew restless and uneasy. Anthony easily dominated the little group. It was in such moments that he was at his best. His brilliant wit, his forceful personality, had never been displayed to better advantage.

Justin, beside him, felt young and crude. He told himself that he had nothing to fear. Everybody knew that Anthony cared only for Diana. Yet, even as he comforted himself, he saw Bettina's look of triumphant pride as Anthony brought a clever story to its climax, and his heart raged in impotent jealousy.

They all went back together in Bobbie's motor boat, and in the darkness Justin managed to say to Bettina, "So you've deserted me."

"Oh, no," she protested, "but you see I couldn't desert—Anthony."

"Has he, then, the first claim?" his voice shook as his dull resentment flamed.

She hesitated. "He—has been so kind—and he's a sort of guardian—you know——"

She dared not tell him more than that, for had she not promised Diana that she would not? Her nature was so crystal clear that she would have been glad to set things straight, to tell him that she was going to marry Anthony, but that she would always be his friend. It was such a perfect arrangement; he would surely understand.

She sighed a little, wishing that she had nothing to hide. And with her sigh his moodiness vanished.

"If it's because he's your guardian, all right—but I'm not going to give you up always so easily."

"Why must you give me up at all?" she challenged.

"Why?" he echoed. "There is no 'why.' I shall never give you up."

At Diana's door she said "Good-bye." "It has been the loveliest evening of my life," she told him. "I shall never forget."

Anthony came in, ostensibly to telephone, but really to have a moment alone with Bettina. Sophie, with sympathetic insight, made the excuse of a letter, which Anthony could mail, and withdrew to write it.

In the dimly-lighted music room, Anthony said, "You must forgive me, dear child, for seeming to neglect you, but I've been such a busy man."

"I know." She looked up at him. "But it seems nice to have you now."

"And it seems nice to have you."

He smiled at her, but he did not touch her. Somehow since that night in the empty house with Diana he had felt that there were things which must come slowly. If he was to play the lover to little Betty, it must be when he could shut out from his heart the image of that pale tall woman in the lilac-scented room.

But Bettina missed nothing from his manner. She felt for him a grateful affection, an unbounded respect, but her wish for impulsive demonstration was gone. She was content to be near him, to know that he cared for her—beyond that she had no conscious desires.

Still smiling at her, he took from his pocket a little box. "I haven't been too busy to remember that I wanted to give you this," he said, and handed it to her.

Set in a slender ring were three great diamonds, and for a guard there was a little circlet of sapphires.

"Perhaps you won't care to wear it now," he said, as she gave a gasp of delight, "but I wanted you to have it. I wanted it to be the sign and seal of the bond which is between us."

She came to him, then all gratitude and clinging sweetness, and put up her face to be kissed.

He touched his lips to her forehead. And he said he was glad that he had made her happy. But he did not tell her that he had forced himself to plight thus, tangibly, his troth to her that there might be no escape from the path of honor which he must follow.

Little Bettina, alone that night in her room, took off the rosy dress and laid it on her bed. Then, enveloped in her long white motor coat, she went out on her porch, and curled up in one of the big chairs. Across the harbor the lights were out at the yacht club. Between the Neck and the main shore little starlike points showed where the lanterns were swung on the sleeping boats. It was long after midnight, and the cold morning mists were already coming in.

But she could not sleep. She had so many wonderful things to think of. A few weeks ago she had been a little lonely child with no one who cared whether she lived or died—now she was rich in love and friendship.

She turned the ring on her finger. How strange it seemed to think that in a few short months she would be—married. That she would belong to Anthony until death should part them.

Her breath came quickly. She stood up, slim and white in her long coat. Then suddenly she slipped to her knees.

"Oh, please, please," she prayed, with her face upturned to the waning stars, "make me worthy of his love. Make me worthy to be his wife."