"Why, even with dry roads it would take you two hours or more to get there, for at all times the road is bad between here and Bensington, but such a thing is simply out of the question with roads that are two feet deep in mud. No, you must stay for the night. I have plenty of room and am more than delighted to have you. No, please don't object, for I will not hear of your doing otherwise." And so it had been settled, much to everybody's satisfaction. However, Betty was very much surprised when, in the midst of a beautiful dance with Joe Barnes--for Joe was a rather wonderful dancer--the latter whirled her off toward a window seat in one corner of the room and placed her, a little breathless, upon it. "Well," she said, that unconquerable imp of mischief dancing in her eyes, "have you any adequate excuse to offer for the spoiling of an exceptionally good dance?" "Is it spoiled?" he asked reproachfully, as he sank down beside her. "I thought perhaps I was improving--the occasion." She made a little face at him, incidentally showing all her dimples. "I suppose, if I were a coquette," she said, flushing a little under the very open admiration of his eyes, "which I am not--" "I'm not so sure," he murmured but she pretended not to hear the interruption. "I should deny that you had spoiled the dance. As it is," she flashed him a pretty smile that robbed her words of all sting, "I'm telling you the truth." "And I," he countered, "am telling you the truth when I say that if it were possible to talk with you and dance at the same time, I should not have brought you here. As it is, I choose the greater of the two blessings." "It must be very important--this that you have to say to me," replied Betty, adding demurely: "Perhaps if you would tell me all about it, we could dance again." "In other words, 'get the agony over'," said Joe, with a grimace. He waited a moment, while the girls, who had danced to the end of the record, turned it over, put in a new needle and started off all over again. "I don't know whether it will seem important to you or not," he said at last, turning slowly toward her. "But what I have to tell you is just about the most important thing in life to me." The tone as well as the words sobered Betty, and she turned to him earnestly. "I shall be very glad to hear it then," she said simply. "I--you--it's rather hard to begin," he stammered, then straightened up and faced her frankly. "The truth is, I can't help knowing that you wondered when you first saw me and am wondering now--as any one has a right to wonder these days when they see a fellow like me in civilian clothes--" Betty started and the color rushed to her face. "No, I haven't--" she began, then stopped confused, remembering that she had been wondering just that thing only a few minutes, yes, only a minute before. "I mean I thought--"