Miss Matthews' cold proved to be bronchitis, and Bettina insisted on nursing her.

"Please let me," she said to Anthony the morning after her flight with Justin. "I suppose I'm in disgrace, anyhow, and this shall be my penance. Only it won't be very severe punishment, for I shall love to take care of her."

"What good is penance if you aren't penitent? I'm perfectly sure that if that young rascal should ask you to go again you'd go."

"It was glorious."

"But very dangerous."

She shrugged. "You do dangerous things every day. Doesn't he, Sophie?"

"Of course."

"That's different. I do such things to help others."

"And I do them to please myself."

"And to please Justin?" There was an impatient note in his voice. "I have told him that he must not ask you again, Bettina."

"What did he say?"

"He didn't say a word." Anthony smiled at the memory. "He just looked at me as if he would like to punch my head, and turned on his heel and left me."

"Are you angry with him?" anxiously.

"He's angry with me."

"Oh, dear!" Betty sighed. "Sophie gave me a terrible lecture when I came home last night; didn't you, Sophie? And now you and Justin have fallen out, and I'm the cause of all the trouble. I'll go and look after Letty Matthews, and you can learn to love me when I'm gone."

In spite of the lightness of her tone, there was a quiver in her voice which brought both of them to her feet.

"My dear child——!"

"Betty dear——"

Bettina smiled at them with misty eyes. "Please let me go, and when I come back everything will be straightened out—and we'll all live—happy—ever after——"

Nothing that they could say would change her decision, and they were vaguely troubled by it, feeling that she had erected between herself and them some barrier of reserve which they could not break down.

Sophie voiced this in a worried way when Bettina had gone up to pack the little bag which Anthony was to convey with her precious self to Miss Matthews. "Perhaps I shouldn't have said so much, but when she came she seemed so unconscious of the dreadfulness and danger that I'm afraid I scolded a bit."

"She's such a child! Do you think she will ever grow up?"

"Of course. Diana feels that she has many womanly qualities——"

Anthony, standing by the window, fixed his eyes steadily on the blue distance as he asked:

"What do you hear—from Diana?"

"I've a letter." Sophie rummaged among the papers on her desk. "And there's a bit at the end that will please you—you know Diana and her enthusiasms——"

"Yes, I know——"

His head was still turned away as she opened the thick folded sheets.

"Shall I read it to you?"

"Please."

"She says she likes the hotel, and the people, although she doesn't see much of them. But this is the part you'll appreciate:

"'There's a wonderful bit of woodland, Sophie, back in the hills, and every day I go there and dream. I thought for a while that I had lost my dreams—but now they are coming to me again in flocks—like doves. And yesterday came the best dream of all. I have been trying to think what I could do with my future, and I've thought of this: I'll build a place up here in the forest where Anthony's sick folk can come when they begin to get well, and thus I can finish the work which he begins——'"

She paused, as Anthony faced her. "Why didn't she write that to me?" he demanded, almost roughly. "Didn't she know it would mean more to me than to you—than to anybody——?"

Then with the sudden consciousness that he was showing his heart he stammered, "Forgive me—but you know what I think—of Diana?"

Sophie was infinitely tactful. "Of course I know what you think of her—she's the most wonderful woman in the whole wide world; and that's a great plan of hers—to have a haven for your convalescents."

He made no answer, but just stood very still, looking out, and when Bettina came down with her little bag, they went away together.

Miss Matthews in a gray flannel wrapper was shivering over an inadequate fire.

"Why aren't you in bed?" the doctor asked.

"Because there is no one to answer my bell, and no one to wait on me—and I'm perfectly sure that if I ever let myself go to bed I shall die."

"Nonsense," briskly. "I've brought Betty back with me, and she's going to stay and see that you're made comfortable."

Miss Matthews' face brightened. "She's the only person in the world that I'd have fussing over me."

"I shall stay here and boss you to my heart's content," Bettina told her.

"Oh, dear," Miss Matthews sighed rapturously, "how good that sounds. I—I want to be bossed. I'm so tired of telling other people what to do—that last day at school I thought I should go to pieces."

"Well, you're not going to pieces," Anthony assured her; "you're going to bed. And when I come back I shall expect to find you asleep."

Bettina, coaxing Miss Matthews to be comfortable, brushed her hair in front of the revived fire.

"What pretty hair you have," she said, as she held it up so that the light might shine upon it. "What makes you spoil it by doing it up in that tight knot?"

"I don't know any other way," wailed Miss Matthews. "I've never had time to be pretty."

"I'm going to braid it," said Bettina, "and by evening it will be waved."

Miss Matthews submitted, luxuriously. "It seems so nice to have some one fussing over me. I don't believe anybody ever brushed my hair before."

Bettina, having hunted out a box of her own belongings, was trying different colored ribbons on the little lady's pale brown locks.

"Do you know, Letty, pink is your color? Yes, it is. Blue makes you look ghastly. Now I'm going to tie this twice around your head so that it will hide all the tight pigtails—I got that idea from Diana."

As she finished the somewhat elaborate process, there came steps outside.

"It's just me," said the voice of the little captain.

Bettina peeped through the door, and announced; "Miss Matthews is sick."

"I know. I met Anthony Blake, and he told me; and what I want to know is, can I do anything——?"

"Nothing—thanks."

"Yes, he can," said the hoarse voice of the invalid. "He can come in. If he doesn't mind my head, I shan't mind him."

The captain, entering, found Miss Matthews in a big chair, her feet covered by a steamer rug, her gray flannel apparel hidden by a white wool shawl which had belonged to Betty's mother, and topping all was the wonderful head-dress of rose-colored ribbon, beneath which Miss Matthews' plain little peaked face looked out wistfully.

"Well, now," said the captain, as he shook hands, "that pink becomes her, don't it?"

Miss Matthews blushed. "Betty fixed it."

"I always did like bright things on wimmen," said the captain, earnestly, "and I like that pink."

"Of course you do," said Betty; "all men like pink, except those who like blue, and now you must go away, for I've got to put my patient to bed."

"Don't you cook anything for her," said the captain, as he backed out of the door, his eyes still gloating over the rosy-beribboned lady on the hearth-rug. "I'll bring you over a bowl of hot chowder to-night, and if there's anything else you want, you just let me know."

"Delia will look out for the other things," said Betty; "she's going to send little Jane to help me. But we shall be very glad to have the chowder."

With Miss Matthews asleep at last, Bettina sat down to write a note to Justin.

It was very brief, and began abruptly:

"I am going to tell Anthony. I lay awake all night and thought it out. It wouldn't be fair for me to marry him—unless he knew. I'd get to be just a shivery shadow, Justin, afraid that he would find that I didn't love him—that I loved somebody else.

"But I can never tell him with his grave eyes watching me, so I'm going to write, now—to-night. It almost seems as if poor Letty had been made a sort of instrument of Providence so that I could be here at this time. I couldn't stay at Diana's with everything over between me—and Anthony.

"Oh, Justin, will he ever want to be friends with us again? Will Diana ever forgive us?

"I wish you were here. Yet you mustn't be here—not until everything is settled. Somehow I don't dare think that we can ever be happy. It doesn't seem right to think of it, does it?

"But I love you."

She gave her note to the little captain when he came with the chowder.

He brought something beside the chowder. In a square box, smelling of sandalwood, was an exquisite kimono of palest pink crÊpe, embroidered with wisteria blossoms.

"It has been lying in an old trunk for years," he exulted, as he shook it out before her delighted eyes. "When I saw her," he nodded toward the door of the inner room, "when I saw her with that pink ribbon in her hair, it just came to me how nice it would be if she had a wrapper or somethin' to go with it. And after I got home I went rummagin' around until I found this."

"It's lovely," said Bettina; "she'll be simply crazy over it, captain."

"The funny part of it is that I bought it in foreign lands, thinking that some day I might get married, and I'd give it to my wife—and now I'm givin' it to her."

Bettina sparkled. "Oh," she said, "I believe you're in love with her, captain."

The captain sat down in a chair by the fire. "Well," he said earnestly, "it's like this. I ain't ever thought of her that way, exactly. It always seemed to me that she knew so much, and that I was such a rough old fellow. But lately—well, she's been lonely, and she ain't been well. And all of a sudden it has kind o' seemed to me that, if I ain't smart, I've got a tender heart, and I'd know how to make a soft nest for her to live in, and it seems to me that maybe, after all, she might throw me in along with all the rest of the reasons for getting married. I guess most men are sort of thrown in. Of course the wimmen don't know it, but what they get married for is to have a parlor of their own, and a kitchen of their own, and somebody to fuss over, and it don't make much difference what man they hang their tender affections on, just so he provides the kitchen and parlor. Now here's Letty Matthews, all tired out with teaching, and this is my time to step in. If she'll ever take me she'll take me now, and as soon as she's well enough to hear me say it, I'm going to ask her."

"If Letty marries you, it will be because she loves you—she's that kind. She'd die sooner than take a man for what he could give her."

The captain's face fell. "Oh, Lord," he groaned, "she won't take me just for—myself——"

"You try and see."

"If you can put in a good word for me," the captain urged anxiously, "you do it."

"When a man wants to marry a woman," said his young adviser, "there's just one way to get her. He must just keep at it, captain."

The captain stood up. "Well, what I want to say is this—I shan't ever look at my garden without thinking of her sittin' some day among the flowers, I shan't ever eat a meal without thinking how nice she'd look pourin' out my coffee in a nice bright dress, and I shan't ever go for a day's fishin' without seein' her in the other end of the boat. And every time I shut my eyes, I'll think of her wearin' pretty things like my mother used to wear. Why, I've got money, that I can't ever use, just lying in the bank and waitin' for somebody to come and spend it. And while I like my own way of doin' things, I can get a likely man to help around the house."

"A man?"

"Yep. I couldn't ever boss a maid. And I ain't goin' to let her"—he jerked his head toward the inner door—"I ain't goin' to let her drudge and cook and scrub. So I'll get some lad that's been a ship's cook, and don't like the sea, and we'll keep things nice for her, and she can fuss around the garden and make calls on the neighbors and sit with me when I smoke. For wimmen, after all," concluded the wise little man, "are liked best by the men when they'll listen. A talkin' woman may catch a man, but the kind that holds him is the kind that sits and listens."

He went away after that, and Bettina carried the pink robe to Miss Matthews. "Oh, Letty, dear," she said, "just see how gorgeous you're going to be."

She opened the box, and let out a whiff of foreign fragrance. But when the beautiful pale-tinted thing was laid across the bed, and Bettina had explained that it was the captain's gift, Miss Matthews looked solemnly at her friend. "If you think I'm going to wear that," she croaked, hoarsely, "you're mistaken."

"Of course you're going to wear it."

"Of course I'm not. I—I'd be afraid."

"Afraid—oh, Letty."

"Yes, I would. I've never worn such things. I'd be afraid I'd get a spot on it, and it wouldn't come out. Now when a woman like me has a thing like that she just lays it away to look at. Then she always knows that she has one lovely garment. But if she wears it, she feels that the day will come when it will be gone, and then—she won't own one beautiful thing in the wide world—not one single beautiful thing."

Bettina bent over her soothingly. "There," she said, "you wear it once, Letty, and then, if you wish, you can put it away."

Late at night, Anthony came on his last round of calls and urged that Bettina should have a nurse to take her place. But Bettina refused.

"I took care of mother alone," she said. "I can surely do this."

Every moment that she was with him she was conscious of the difference in her attitude toward him. She had a nervous fear that he might notice the change in her, that he might read her heart with his keen eyes.

But he seemed preoccupied, and just before he went away he said:

"You haven't promised me one thing, Bettina."

"What, Anthony?"

"That you won't fly again with Justin. I think I shall have to ask that you make it a definite promise."

"Suppose I won't—promise."

"I think you will," he said, in his decided way. "You and I, all through our lives, will each have to defer to the wishes of the other. If I knew that a thing worried you greatly I am sure I should refrain from doing it—I should like to know that you felt that way about me—Bettina."

Something of the old tender quality had crept into his voice. Once more they were alone in the shadowy room—but outside now was the darkness of the night instead of the darkness of the storm. Perhaps some memory of her first impulsive response to his wooing came to him as he took both of her hands in his. "There's some barrier between us of late," he said. "I'm a plain blunt man, and I don't know what I may have said or done. Have I hurt you in any way, child?"

Here was Fate bringing opportunity to her. This was the moment for revelation, confession.

But she could not tell him.

She stood before him with bent head.

"You haven't hurt me, but there is something I should like to say to you. May I write it—Anthony?"

He put a finger under her chin and turned her face up to him.

"Are you afraid of me—dear?"

"Oh, no——"

"Then tell me now——"

"Please—no."

For a moment he studied her drooping face, then he patted her on the cheek. "Write it if you must—but you're making me feel like an awful bear, Bettina."

He sighed and turned away.

She put out her hand as if to stop him, but drew it back. Then she followed him into the hall, and stood watching him, with the light from the old lantern again making a halo of her fair hair. But this time she did not go down to him in the darkness. The spell was upon her of a pair of mocking eyes, and of a voice which had sung with her celestial harmonies.