“Take it ill, my dear soul? Is it likely? And you so tender of him as to bring him home here!”

“I have seen,” said Betty, still with that light beat upon her hard rough hand, “so many of them on my lap. And they are all gone but this one! I am ashamed to seem so selfish, but I don’t really mean it. It’ll be the making of his fortune, and he’ll be a gentleman when I am dead. I⁠—I⁠—don’t know what comes over me. I⁠—try against it. Don’t notice me!” The light beat stopped, the resolute mouth gave way, and the fine strong old face broke up into weakness and tears.