I knew that in so far as Betty herself was concerned, I should find no trouble, but I also knew that I might find difficulty in persuading her to leave her father, for duty was a tremendous word in Betty’s vocabulary.

When I reached the Old Swan, policy and fear each told me that it would be safer to attack Betty and her father separately.  The odds of two against one, in this case, I feared would be too great for me to overcome.  So I led Betty to her parlor,—­rather she led me,—­and after a preliminary skirmish, I told her I had come to see her on a most important piece of business.

“I’m glad to see you, whatever brings you, Baron Ned,” she answered, smoothing out her skirts in anticipation of an interesting budget of news.

“But I’m no longer ‘Baron Ned,’ Betty,” I informed her.

She asked a hundred questions with her eyes and eyebrows, and I hastily answered them by telling of the sale to Wentworth.

“Ah, I’m so sorry,” she answered, “and I’m so glad, too, that I could cry.  You don’t seem so much above me nor so far away.”

“That was my chief reason for selling my title and estates,” I answered, reaching forward and taking her hand, which for the first time she did not withdraw.  “I sold them, Betty, for a large price, but my reason for so doing was one that could not be measured by money.  I want you for my wife, Betty, and my title, at least, stood between us.  I should have given it away if I could not have sold it, because I want you, Betty, more than anything else in all the world.”

“Ah, please don’t, Baron Ned!” she cried, bringing her handkerchief to her eyes.  “It can’t be.  I’m not so selfish as to take you at your word.”

I was sitting on the cushioned bench by the wall, and she was in a chair facing me, within easy reach, so I caught her wrists and drew her to me, whispering:—­

“Sit here, Bettina, by my side, and tell me why it cannot be, for I pledge you my honor I am not to be denied.”  She resisted for a moment, but at last sat down beside me, and I put my arm about her, despite her fluttering struggle.  “Now, tell me why, Bettina.  I need not tell you that you have my love.  You know it without the telling.”

She nodded her head “Yes,” and covered her face with her hands.

“And am I wrong in believing that I possess your love?” I asked.

She shook her head to indicate that I was not wrong, and the little gesture was as good as an oath to me.  After her confession, she would not dare to resist me, nor did she, save to say pleadingly:—­

“Please, Baron Ned, it cannot be.”

Tears were trickling down her cheeks, and I could see that she was in great trouble.

“I do not ask you to come to me now,” I said, “but you may take a long time, if you wish—­a day, or two, or even three, if you insist.  But Betty, I am not to be refused, and you may as well understand now and for all that you are to be my wife.  But tell me, Betty, what is your reason for denying me at this time?”