APPINESS,” said Betty, “is”
“Surcease from dyspepsia,” quoth I.
“—having a duty in life, and doing it.”
“True; and I'm very happy.”
Betty sniffed.
“Do you believe that you are doing your duty?”
“Sure of it! Am I not here?”
“And does your duty lead you here at ten every morning and keep you stretched out on the couch until lunch time? Is that your idea of duty?”
“My duty in life is to keep watch and guard over you, Betty; to see that your inexperienced years are not taken advantage of, that your young affections are not stolen, and to”
“Thank you not at all,” cried Betty. “My inexperienced affections”
“Years, Betty.”
“—are in not the slightest danger!”
“Not when I am by.”
“No, indeed!”
Betty smiled exasperatingly.
“To keep my eye on the others,” I added, with dignity.
“Well,” said Betty, “you will soon have to open your eyes wider than they are now, if that is the case.”
“Someone is coming?” I asked, with admirable calmness.
“Mr. Burns is at this moment entering the gate.”
I raised my head so that I could see over the porch railing. The attitude was uncomfortable, but duty and discomfort are not only alliterative but synonymous.
“Burns,” I said, disagreeably; “he ought to be put out. A—ah!” I drew a deep breath of joy. “It's rum to rock candy he'll try to vault the tennis net! And if he does!”
The silence of suspense fell over the porch. The vines rustled excitedly, and Mug slapped his tail against the floor, intimating that although seemingly asleep he was in reality wide awake to the portentous moment. Then Betty blushed, the tennis net sagged in the middle and acted strangely, and I dropped my head behind the railing. Mug slowly arose and, viewing the scene on the lawn, barked once in disapprobation and went to sleep again.
“He's—he's so—so impetuous, Betty!” I gurgled from beneath a scratchy Japanese cushion.
Betty sniffed again.
“Aren't you—aren't you going now?” she asked, with elaborate indifference.
“Betty!” I cried, in injured virtue. “My duty!”
“It's not your duty to—to stay where you are not wanted,” answered Betty, warmly. “You don't like Mr. Burns, and—and”
“What have my personal likes or wishes to do with it, Betty? When duty calls”
“Mr. Burns”
“—or Mr. Burns,” I continued, airily, “I shall obey. And besides, this couch is very comfy.”
“Please go,” pleaded Betty.
“What will you give me?”
“Nothing; I will not bribe you,” answered Betty, in fine contempt. “If you want to stay and be mean”
“The Toppers' dance comes off to-morrow night, Betty.”
“What has that?”
“And you are going, Betty; and I am going, Betty. Shall we say three waltzes, Betty?”
“Certainly not!” Silence. Mug snored. Footsteps on the gravel walk. I rearranged the cushions under my head.
“Perhaps one dance,” began Betty.
“Oh, this is jolly nice!”
“Well, then, two; but”
“So kind of stretchy. Don't you like to rizzle, Betty?”
“Quick, he's here! Three dances!”
“Let us be exact, Betty; three waltzes?”
“Oh, yes, yes!” whispered Betty.
I arose. Mug arose. Betty sat down. I nodded to the other chap. As I passed down the steps Betty jumped up.
“Why, Mr. Burns! Where did you come from?”
I blinked gravely at Mug. Mug blinked gravely back.
—” began Betty.
“One moment, please. Are you quite sure that I ought to hear this?”
“What do you mean?” asked Betty.
“These outpourings of your maiden heart, Betty; these confessions of a young and trustful soul.”
“I don't know what you mean.”
“Ah, Betty, I pray you do not embarrass me! Has—er—has the—the new flame—I mean, has Mr. Burns spoken, Betty?”
“No, he has not,” answered Betty, with what seemed unnecessary warmth of tone and hauteur of expression. “The idea! And you may be quite sure that if he had I would not have told you!”
“You take a great load off my mind, my dear young lady.”
“Off your what?” cried Betty, with lamentable irony.
“Let us not quarrel, Betty. Hark! the stringed instruments again give forth their sweetest melodies. Let us haste away and mingle in the mazy dance.”
“I don't care to mingle in the mazy dance,” answered Betty, crossly.
“But this is my waltz, my second. If I lose this I shall have to have another. Allow me.” I took Betty's card.
“But what is this? Where, oh, where is our young friend, Mr. Burns? His well-known initials are not here, Betty. Or is he masquerading under the symbol of 'G. H.' or 'Dick?'”