“I――I beg your pardon,” he said earnestly. “I didn’t mean―――― It came out, you know!” Betty laughed a trifle nervously, her face still averted. “Yes, it did ‘come out,’ didn’t it?” she asked. Then, severely, coldly: “Is it the custom in Virginia, Mr. Ryerson, to address girls by their――their first names the second time you meet them?” “No,” answered Phillip, miserably. “And I’m very sorry. Won’t you――can’t you forgive me?” “Perhaps; if――” Betty turned and observed him frowningly――“if it doesn’t happen again.” “Ever?” “Why,” faltered Betty, “why――of course. Aren’t we silly? Won’t you come in?” They had reached the house and Betty placed one small foot in its patent leather Oxford on the lowest step. Phillip glanced from the Oxford to the oriel window doubtfully. “Wouldn’t your mother think I was――cheeky?” he asked. “She’d think you were cheekier if you kept me on the steps,” answered Betty. “Well, then let’s walk,” he suggested boldly. “I think I ought to go in,” answered Betty. And so she took the Oxford from the lowest step and moved off up the sidewalk with him. “Do _you_ think I’m awfully cheeky?” asked Phillip. “I? Why?” “Your brother said you did.” “Oh, please don’t pay any attention to what Everett says about me. He’s liable to tell you anything. What――what did he say?” “Oh, I reckon he was just fooling. He said――he said you said――――” “Oh, dear!” sighed Betty. “More Emerson!” “That I was a nice boy, but frightfully cheeky.” “The idea! I never said anything of the kind. What I did say――――” “Please tell me, won’t you?” “No, I shan’t. It wasn’t anything, really. But you mustn’t pay any attention to Everett. He’s――――” “A nice boy, but untruthful?” “Yes,” laughed Betty. “We must go back now.” “Must we? And won’t you tell me what you said?” “Certainly not,” she answered, severely. “Never?” pleaded Phillip. Betty relented. “Perhaps some day.” “Next time I see you?” “Hardly. Good-by.” She held out her hand and Phillip seized it as though it were the only thing between him and death by drowning. “Well, but――I may come again?” “If you like.” “When?” “Some afternoon when I’m at home?” asked Betty innocently. “Of course! Only――only when are you at home?” Betty creased her forehead charmingly and thought deeply. “I’m pow’ful unsartin’, I’m afraid. But――I’m usually at home on Thursday.” “Thursday!” cried Phillip. “But to-morrow’s Thursday, and the next one’s a week off! More than a week!” “Why, so it is!” she laughed. “What shall we do about it?” “Oh, of course you don’t care,” he grumbled. “I do if you do,” she said contritely. “We’ll alter the calendar.” “How?” he asked eagerly. “Why, we’ll have a week from to-morrow come on――let me see!――on Monday. Will that do?” “Really? And will you be at home?” Betty nodded. Phillip held forth his hand again. “But we’ve said good-by once,” she demurred. “Let’s say it again.”