Americans -- England -- Fiction; Children of the rich -- Fiction; Marriage -- Fiction; Sisters -- Fiction
Betty glanced at the boy and saw a small flame of red creep up on his
cheek. Instinctively she knew what it meant, and she put out her hand
and lightly touched his shoulder.
“I hope you'll like me, Ughtred,” she said.
He almost started at the sound of her voice, but when he turned his face
towards her he only grew redder, and looked awkward without answering.
His manner was that of a boy who was unused to the amenities of polite
society, and who was only made shy by them.
Without warning, a moment or so later, Bettina stopped in the middle
of the avenue, and looked up at the arching giant branches of the trees
which had reached out from one side to the other, as if to clasp hands
or encompass an interlacing embrace. As far as the eye reached, they did
this, and the beholder stood as in a high stately pergola, with breaks
of deep azure sky between. Several mellow, cawing rooks were floating
solemnly beneath or above the branches, now wand then settling in some
highest one or disappearing in the thick greenness.
Lady Anstruthers stopped when her sister did so, and glanced at her in
vague inquiry. It was plain that she had outlived even her sense of the
beauty surrounding her.
“What are you looking at, Betty?” she asked.
“At all of it,” Betty answered. “It is so wonderful.”
“She likes it,” said Ughtred, and then rather slunk a step behind his
mother, as if he were ashamed of himself.
“The house is just beyond those trees,” said Lady Anstruthers.
They came in full view of it three minutes later. When she saw it, Betty
uttered an exclamation and stopped again to enjoy effects.
“She likes that, too,” said Ughtred, and, although he said it
sheepishly, there was imperfectly concealed beneath the awkwardness a
pleasure in the fact.
“Do you?” asked Rosalie, with her small, painful smile.
Betty laughed.
“It is too picturesque, in its special way, to be quite credible,” she
said.
“I thought that when I first saw it,” said Rosy.
“Don't you think so, now?”
“Well,” was the rather uncertain reply, “as Nigel says, there's not much
good in a place that is falling to pieces.”
“Why let it fall to pieces?” Betty put it to her with impartial
promptness.
“We haven't money enough to hold it together,” resignedly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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