“The letter, such a comforting letter,” she answered, tears filling her eyes. “It helped more than anything.” “Then it has fulfilled its mission.” “How sweet of you to send the flowers,” she added. “It isn’t a fraction of what I should I like to do for you. Betty, if you only knew how I love you! But there, I didn’t come to worry you again. My new machine has just come, and I thought you might like a breath of air.” “How refreshing it would be,” she answered. And she accepted with her eyes and turned to pick up a wrap. In fact, Betty was a flirt, and quite often her eyes said things that her lips did not confirm. “What a monster in comparison with our little Ford,” said she, as she sank into the softly cushioned seat beside Walter. “Do you like it?” “It’s wonderful.” “Then I wish it was yours instead of mine.” “But then it would not be wonderful if you were not here beside me.” Walter gasped and almost ran into a passing machine. He looked down at the small figure beside him and asked. “Really--really, Betty, do you mean what you say?” And in her heart Betty almost believed herself that she meant it. * * * * * It was a season of reaction. War was over and with spring came the end of the winter festivities. Betty had derived much benefit from Walter’s newly acquired fortune. There had been rides, dinners, flowers and everything dear to the heart of a girl. She found Walter’s attentions the envy of other girls, and she reveled in the thought that he had eyes for no one but her--until she accepted his proposal of marriage and the wedding day was not far distant. Then she revolted against the affection which she had obtained so easily, and which required such little effort to hold. Jack often made the third party, and she found she liked it better when he was there. About Jack was a vagueness--an air of uncertainty and superiority that had always attracted her, even though he had paired off with Sarah. As for Jack--deep in his heart there was the desire to prove to Betty that she could not number him among her many suitors. Yet recently he had been forced to admit that he liked and even sought her company. It was a day brisk and cool for spring. Betty was in a perverse mood. She had whipped her dog without just provocation, and she had answered her aunt shortly several times that morning. The ’phone rang--it was Walter. “Do you need me to help open packages?” “Why--no, Walter; there are only a few, and I’m so frightfully busy with the dressmakers that I can’t stop just now.” “When you need me you’ll call me, won’t you, dear?” he asked, in a half pleading voice. “Yes, I--I surely shall.” “This evening, may I come up?” “I really ought to go to bed early; I’m so tired.” “Very well,” he answered in a disappointed but conciliatory tone.