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.