But suddenly all changed to brightness when Betty entered.

Pickering was talking to me, standing between me and the girl, so that she did not see me when she first came into the room.
She stepped behind the bar for some purpose and called to her father, who started to go to her, but before he reached her she looked up and saw me.
In a moment she was by my side, smiling and dimpling in a manner fit to set the heart of an anchorite a-thumping.
"I came for a lobster, Betty," I said, taking her hand, "and to see you.
I was afraid you might forget me." "The Old Swan is likely to forget you, Baron Ned," she answered, withdrawing her hand, "if you don't come to see us oftener." "Ah, Betty, you're a mercenary bit of flesh and blood.

Always looking out for customers," I returned, shaking my head.
"Yes," she replied, laughing softly.

"And--and very sorry when certain customers come so seldom." Had she spoken glibly, her words would have meant nothing, but there was a hesitancy, a pretty fluttering in her manner which pleased me, so I was emboldened to say:-- "I hope I am one of the 'certain customers,' Betty." Again she laughed softly, as she answered, "Yes, Baron Ned, _the_ certain one." "Do you mean, Betty, that I am the 'certain one' for the Old Swan or for Betty ?" I asked.
She was standing near me, and I again caught her hand, but it was not a part of Betty's programme to be questioned too closely, so she withdrew her hand, saying, "I must go." On former occasions I had put forth what I considered adroit efforts to steal small favors from the girl, for, as already intimated, I considered her merely a barmaid; but I had failed, and the conviction was dawning on my mind that either she was not an ordinary barmaid or that I was the wrong man.

The first assumption would make me all the more eager, but the second would deter any self-respecting man from further pursuit.