“No.” Betty shook her head smilingly. “No, not the least bit in the world, Mr. Ryerson.” “It used to be Phillip,” he accused, “before I went away.” “You don’t mean――!” She paused in simulated dismay and horror――“you don’t mean that I _called_ you that!” “You know you did!” “Not really? But there, I daresay I did. I’m always doing something awful unladylike and irreverent! But you’ll pardon me, won’t you?” Phillip groaned and jumped up in exasperation. Betty’s eyes grew large with polite surprise. “You’re not well?” she exclaimed feelingly. Phillip looked down at her wrathfully. “I’m afraid you’re studying too hard,” she said, shaking her head dubiously. “You mustn’t overdo it, you know.” Thus ended a most unsatisfactory conversation, for Everett summoned Betty to make tea and Mrs. Kingsford took possession of Phillip. She found him in a most gloomy state of mind, and set herself to cheering him up with such good results that when they began the consumption of sandwiches and tea and cakes he was chatting quite volubly of his vacation and telling about Virginia. Betty, sitting across the study with Miss Wayland and Everett, observed Phillip’s cheerfulness and frowned. Once, during a lull in the conversation beside her, she heard Phillip exclaim warmly: “Her name’s Ruby, Mrs. Kingsford, and she’s as pretty as a picture! She’s rather light, but has a mighty good colour; and she’s one of the graceful, trim sort, you know, with little bits of feet and slender ankles. I wish you could see her when――――” Then Everett spoke and the rest was lost to her; strain her ears as she might, she could not distinguish Phillip’s words; but she saw with keen displeasure that his eyes were sparkling with enthusiasm. Unappeased curiosity marred the rest of the afternoon for Betty. She wondered who Ruby could be. Some girl in Virginia, she supposed; and yet Virginians weren’t usually light, even if they were “of the graceful, trim sort.” As for those “little bits of feet and slender ankles――” Betty bit her lip and, thrusting her foot out from under her skirts, viewed it with dissatisfaction. The ankle was slender enough, she thought, but the heavy, broad-soled patent-leather Oxford made her foot look simply enormous. Not that it mattered, of course, only――“Slender ankles” indeed! She wished――oh, she did wish she had that photograph she had sent to Phillip! She would like to tear it to bits and throw it in his face!