The Beth Book: Being a Study of the Life of Elizabeth Caldwell Maclure, a Woman of GeniusGrand, Sarah
General
The Beth Book: Being a Study of the Life of Elizabeth Caldwell Maclure, a Woman of Genius
Grand, Sarah
England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Women -- Social conditions -- Fiction
Beth could not find it in her heart to say a word to check her
mother's jubilation; besides, she had played up to her, answering to
expectation, as she was apt to do, with fatal versatility. But she did
not feel that they had come out of the business well. It was as if
their honesty had been bedraggled somehow, and she could not respect
her mother for her triumph; on the contrary, she pitied her. That kind
of diplomacy or tact, the means by which people who have had every
advantage impose upon those who have had no advantages to speak of,
did not appeal to Beth as pleasant, even at fourteen.
Mrs. Caldwell put her work away at once, and hurried off to describe
the encounter to Lady Benyon.
"They had not heard of the menagerie affair, I suppose," the old lady
observed, twinkling. "Thanks to yourself, I think you may consider
Miss Beth is well out of _that_ scrape. But take my advice. Get that
girl married the first chance you have. _I_ know girls, and she's one
of the marrying kind. Once she's married, let her mutiny or do
anything she likes. _You'll_ be shut of the responsibility."
CHAPTER XXVIII
From that time forward it was as if Alfred had vanished into space.
Whether he ever attempted to communicate with her, Beth could not
tell; but she received no letter or message. She expected to hear from
him through Dicksie, but it soon became apparent that Dicksie had
deserted her. He came to none of their old haunts, and never looked
her way in church or in the street when they met. She was ashamed to
believe it of him at first, lest some defect in her own nature should
have given rise to the horrid suspicion; but when she could no longer
doubt it, she shrugged her shoulders as at something contemptible, and
dismissed him from her mind. About Alfred she could not be sure. He
might have sent letters and messages that never reached her, and
therefore she would not blame him; but as the thought of him became an
ache, she resolutely set it aside, so that, in a very short time, in
that part of her consciousness where his image had been, there was a
blank. Thus the whole incident ended like a light extinguished, as
Beth acknowledged to herself at last. "It is curious, though," she
thought, "but I certainly knew it in myself all along from the moment
the change came, _if only I could have got at the knowledge_."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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