Lady Betty Across the Water | Page 4

position in her
own country," she went calmly on. "I have satisfied myself on those
points beyond doubt, or I should not dream of allowing you to be her
guest. She has a cottage at Newport, and will take you there, as summer,
it seems, is not the Season in New York. You may stay with her
through July and August,--even for September, if you are amusing
yourself. Later, Mrs. Stuyvesant-Knox will send you home with friends
of hers, who can be trusted to take good care of you. She knows several
people, she tells me, who are crossing in the autumn, to winter abroad;
and they would bring you to me. Of course, I should have to be nice to
them, by way of showing my appreciation of any trouble you had given;
but a dinner, and a Saturday to Monday at most, would be quite
enough."
So it was all arranged, even to the details of my home-coming, and the
price to be paid for returning me, like a parcel, to my owner! Suddenly
I remembered the words I had overheard at the window of the den.
"The question is, what is to be done with Betty?"
Mother had evidently been so anxious to have the question answered,
that she had at once taken measures to settle it. But why should
anything be done with me? Nothing ever had been, so far, except when
I was sent last autumn to stop with my aunt; and she was so much
annoyed because my cousin Loveland came home unexpectedly, that
after that I could do nothing to please her, and was packed back to
Battlemead Towers in disgrace, I never could understand for what
crime.
"How did Mrs. Ess--I mean, Mrs. Stuyvesant-Knox happen to ask for a

visit from me?" I ventured to wriggle out, like a worm who isn't sure
whether it had better turn or not. I was certain that for some reason of
her own, Mother had suggested the idea, if only hypnotically; but she
seemed almost too frank as she answered, and it was frightening not
even to be snubbed.
"I told you to-day that she had taken a fancy to you, my dear. Of course,
she could not hope to secure Victoria, even if she preferred her, for
Victoria has important engagements which will carry her through the
season, and afterwards to Cowes and up to Scotland for the shooting at
Dorloch Castle. But you are still almost a child; and children do not
have engagements. Nevertheless, you are Lady Betty Bulkeley, the
Duke of Stanforth's sister, and as such, though in yourself you are an
unimportant little person, it's not impossible that as a member of your
family, these Americans may think you worth cultivating. One hears
that they worship titles."
"I'm sure they can't worship them as much as some people in our own
country, who haven't got them, do," I cried, defending Americans for
Miss Woodburn's sake. "Vic says----"
"Never mind what Victoria says," returned Mother. "The less you think
on these subjects, the better, my dear Betty. I merely hinted at a
possible and partial incentive to these people's friendship for you, so
that you need not feel it incumbent to be oppressively grateful, you
know. I should wish you to keep your dignity among foreigners, even
though you would, of course, look upon Mrs. Stuyvesant-Knox as, in a
way, your guardian. Now I must call Thompson, and have her put me
into my dinner dress, as there is no more time to waste. When Mrs.
Stuyvesant-Knox speaks of your visit, you will know what to say."
I mumbled something vaguely dutiful, and began to dress as quickly as
I could; but the more I thought of it, the more I felt that I hadn't been
fairly treated, to be disposed of in such an offhand way. After all, I am
eighteen; and a person of eighteen isn't a child.
I'm not sure I wasn't pouting when Vic came in, ready for dinner,
asking if she should fasten up my frock. I had nearly finished it, for

practice has made me almost as clever as a conjurer about manipulating
my hands behind my back, but when Vic flew at me and began giving
useless little touches, I guessed that she wanted to whisper something
in my ear without Mother seeing, if she should happen to prance in at
the wrong moment--as she often does.
"Look here, Betty, are you going to be a good little girl, and do what
you're bid, without making a fuss?" she asked, in a quick, low voice.
"I'm not certain yet," said I. "I'm thinking it over. I don't see why I
should be sent off across the water with strangers, at a moment's notice,
and I----"
"'Tisn't