I have spoken heretofore of my engagement to marry Mary Hamilton, and my passion for Betty may indicate that my heart was susceptible, if not fickle. But aside from Betty's Hebe-like charms of person and sweetness of disposition, there were other reasons for my falling off respecting Mary. While she had promised to marry me, still there was a coldness, perhaps I should say a calmness, in her manner toward me, and a cautiousness in holding me aloof which seemed to indicate a desire on her part for a better establishment in life than I could give, if perchance a better offered. My suit had not prospered, though it had not failed, since she was to be my wife provided she found no more eligible husband within a reasonable time.
Dangling blunts the edge of ardor; therefore I soon found myself noticing beauty elsewhere and discovered none that could be compared with that of Betty Pickering of the Old Swan. It is true she was, in a sense, a barmaid, and equally true that I had no thought of marrying her. Still it was significant even at that early time that my mind reverted to the fact that Edward Hyde, Lord Chancellor of England and Earl of Clarendon, had married an innkeeper's widow, whose daughter became the mother of two queens.
While this was true, still I respected Betty less than I admired her and far less than she deserved, never entirely forgetting her station in life nor ceasing to recognize the great distance between us.
When I entered the Old Swan, Betty greeted me with a smile amid a nest of dimples, and led me upstairs to her parlor, so that we might talk without being overheard. I sat down on a settle, and Betty took her place beside me. Her hands rested on her lap, giving her an air of contentment as she turned her face toward me and asked:--
"And me?" she asked, looking up with a curious little smile. "In what way may I serve you?"
"By sitting there and permitting me to look at you," I answered.
"Oh, is that all?" she asked, laughing softly.
"And by smiling once in a while," I suggested.
"Who shall smile? You or I?" she queried, glancing slyly up to me.
"Oh, you, by all means," I returned. "There is no beauty in my smile, while yours--"
"Come, come, Baron Ned," she interrupted, looking up to me pleadingly. "My smiles are honest, and that is all that is needful in my case. So don't try to make me believe they are anything more. Don't make a fool of me by flattery."