“I had the unhappiness—­the very great unhappiness,” he began, “to feel much displeased with you last night; but upon thinking the whole matter over carefully, I am convinced that in assisting your unfortunate brother to escape you did your best under the circumstances, and were justified in yielding to a very natural and proper sisterly impulse.”

“Thank you,” said Betty demurely, but with a sparkle of fun in her liquid eyes as she turned them upon Gulian, secretly amused at this curiously characteristic apology.

“We will dismiss that event and endeavor to forget it; I only wish, to repeat my injunction that I desire Clarissa should know nothing of the matter.”  He paused, and Betty made a movement of assent.

“How old are you, Betty?” came the next remark.

“I am turned sixteen,” replied Betty, somewhat surprised at the question.

“So I thought.”  Gulian paused again to give weight and dignity to the disclosure.  “You are now of a marriageable age.  I have this morning received a proposal for your hand.”

“Indeed,” said Betty calmly, “And who, pray, has done me that honor, in this city, where I am but a recent comer?”

“Precisely what I remarked; the acquaintance has been, perhaps, unduly short.  But nevertheless a most honorable and distinguished gentleman intends to offer you, through me, his hand”—­

“He had been wiser to present me with his heart,” interrupted Betty, with a mischievous laugh.  But mirth died on her lips as Gulian, frowning slightly, proceeded with his story in his own way.

“His hand, and I presume his heart; do not be flippant, Betty; it ill becomes you.  This young gentleman will be called upon to fill a high position; he is the son of a man of title and”—­

“Stay,” said Betty coldly.  “It is not necessary to rehearse his advantages.  May I ask the name of this somewhat audacious gentleman?”

“Audacious?” ejaculated Gulian, falling back a step to gaze full at the haughty face uplifted toward him.  “Surely you misunderstand me.  Pending your father, General Wolcott’s consent, I trust you are able to perceive the advantages of this match, for Captain Geoffrey Yorke is a son of Lord Herbert Yorke, and grandson of the Earl of Hardwicke.  It is an exceptionally good offer, in my opinion, for any colonist, as in this country, alas, we have no rank.  Moreover, Betty, when the war ends it will be wise to have some affiliation with the mother country, and by so doing be in a position to ask protection for your unhappy and misguided relatives who now bear arms against the King.”

Up rose Mistress Betty, her slender form trembling with indignation, her eyes flashing, and her cheeks scarlet.—­

“I would to God,” she cried passionately, “that my father could hear you insult his child, his country, and his cause.  There is no need for you to ask his consent to my marriage with Captain Yorke, for here, this moment, I promptly decline any alliance which possesses the advantages you so feelingly describe.”