"What did he say?" asked Pickering. "'Ee didn't say nothing," answered the boy. "'Ee looked at me." At that moment Betty came in, and Pickering nodding toward the stranger, she went to serve him. When she stopped by his table, she made a perpendicular courtesy, and asked:-- "How may I serve you, sir?" "You may bring me a bit of cheese, Betty, and a mug of your father's famous beer," said the gentleman, giving his order modestly. "Very well, sir," returned Betty, making another stiff courtesy to "a bit of cheese and a mug of beer." But while her knee was bent, she caught a glimpse of the man's face beneath the drooping brim of his hat, and the stiff courtesy instantly changed to a bow as she exclaimed softly:-- "Ah, Master Hamilton, I did not know you. We have not seen you at the Old Swan this many a day, and--and you are very much changed, sir." "You are not changed, Betty, unless you have grown prettier, if that be possible," returned George Hamilton. "Thank you, Master Hamilton," answered Betty, laughing softly, and bringing her dimples and teeth into fine display. With all her profound respect for the high rank of her lady guests, Betty's smiles, while waiting on handsome George, were of a far rarer quality than those given to rank and station in the small dining room. In Hamilton's case, she could not suppress the smile nor restrain the soft laugh incident to her surprise. The warm glow in her eyes and her murmured words of modest welcome came of their own accord, because she was kind of heart and as bewitching a bit of humanity as one could possibly want to caress. At different times I had imagined that Betty was in love with Hamilton, and had suffered strange twinges of jealousy on account of my fear; twinges that surprised and angered me, for my heart had no business going astray after a barmaid. She had always been kind to me, with a shy fluttering in her manner from which I should have taken comfort had she not been freer and easier with Hamilton. Betty's manner with me should have given me a hint of the way her heart was tending, even at that early time, but Hamilton was so much more likely to attract a woman than I, and his manner was so much more offhand and dashing than mine that I thought it impossible for such a girl as Betty to think twice of me while she might have been thinking of him. But I was wrong, as will unfold later; wrong, greatly to my trouble and surprise. I should be delighted if I could discover the standards whereby women measure men. Ugly John Prigg is adored by a beautiful wife, from whom no other man can win a smile. Stupid little Short possesses a tall rare Venus, and cadaverous Long a bewitching Hebe. Bandy-legged Little Jermyn, of Whitehall, he of the "pop eyes" and the rickets head, he with neither manner, presence, brains, rank, nor money, save what he steals and begs, is beyond doubt the lady-killer of our court, so what are we to do about it all but wonder and "give it up"?