sweet glance held no hint of self-consciousness, and beyond a certain
point of light flirtation he had, as yet, dared not go.

He pondered these things one morning as he worked on his delicate
machine in the great shed with its wide opening toward the water.

Why had little Bettina erected a barrier? She knew nothing of the arts
of sophisticated coquetry, so he absolved her from any intention to
rouse his interest. Was she unawakened? Was there another man?

He laid down his pipe to think out that last startling proposition.
There had been no men in her secluded life.

Except Anthony Blake! Gracious Peter, could it be Anthony? There came to
Justin, suddenly, a vision of Bettina in the shadowy room. Of her
childish dependence upon the doctor, of her little claims of intimacy,
her evident preference for the older man's society, her vehement denial
the night of the dinner that there could be anything but friendship
between Anthony and Diana.

Putting, thus, two and two together, he decided that Bettina believed
herself in love with Anthony. Yes, that was it--and Anthony--well, for
Anthony there was just Diana!

There you had it, and the only way to save Bettina and, incidentally,
himself from heartbreak was to take things into his own hands, and play
Prince to this exquisite Cinderella.

Unconsciously his mind assumed a sort of King Cophetua attitude toward
the charming Beggar Maid. He found himself humming:

"In robe and crown the king stept down,
To meet and greet her on her way----"

Justin knocked the ashes out of his pipe and put it in his pocket.
There was no time like the present, and he at once went toward Diana's,
"clothed all in leather," like the old man in the nursery rhyme.

He found Bettina in the garden. She wore a strong little suit of blue
serge with a crimson silk scarf knotted under her sailor collar. On her
fair head was a shady hat. She stood by the stone wall looking
expectantly down the road. But it was not Justin whom she expected,
although she smiled at him, and gave him her hand.

"Did you meet Miss Matthews?" she inquired.

"Miss Matthews?"

"You know. You met her the first time you saw me."

"I can only remember that time that I met--you."

She laughed. "How nicely you say it."

"But you do not take me seriously."

"Does anybody take you seriously?"

"Kind people do."

"And I'm not kind?"

"Not to me--you just give me remnants and fragments of your time. I hav