Part 67 (2/2)

”Isn't this lovely?” she e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

”Yes, it's very jolly--with you,” he said.

”You wouldn't like it so well without me?” Beth asked.

”No, I should think not,” he rejoined. ”And you wouldn't like it as well without me, I hope.”

”No,” Beth responded. ”It makes it nicer having some one to share it.”

”Now that's not quite kind,” he answered in an injured tone. ”Some one is any one; and _I_ shouldn't be satisfied with anybody but you.”

”Well, but I am satisfied with you,” Beth answered dispa.s.sionately.

He took her hand, laid it in his own palm, and looked at it. It was a child's hand as yet, delicately pink and white.

”What a pretty thing!” he said. ”Oh, you smile at that.” He reached up to put a lock of her brown hair back from her cheek, and then he put his arm round her.

Next day he was obliged to go away--Beth never thought of inquiring why or wherefore; but she heard her mother and Lady Benyon talking about the very eligible appointment he was hoping to get. He took an affectionate leave of her. When he had gone she went off to the sands, and was surprised to find how glad she was to be alone again. The tide was far out, and there were miles and miles of the hard buff sand, a great, open s.p.a.ce, not empty to Beth, but teeming with thought and full of feeling. Some distance on in front of her there was a solitary figure, a man walking with bent head and hands folded behind him, holding a stick--Count Gustav Bartahlinsky's favourite att.i.tude when deep in meditation. Beth hurried on, and soon overtook him.

”Would you rather be alone, Count Gustav?” she said.

He turned to look at her, then smiled, and they walked on together.

”So they are going to marry you off,” he said abruptly.

”Yes,” Beth answered laconically.

”Do you wish to be married?”

”No, I do not.”

”Then why do you consent?”

”Because I'm weak; I can't help it,” she said.

”Nonsense!”

”I can't,” she repeated. ”I'm firm enough about some things, but in this I vacillate. When I am alone I know I am making a mistake, but when I am with other people who think differently, my objection vanishes.”

”What is your objection?” he asked.

”That is the difficulty,” she said. ”I can't define it. Do you know Dr. Dan?”

”I can't say I know him,” he answered. ”I have met him and talked to him. He expresses the most unexceptional opinions; but it is premature to respect a man for the opinions he expresses--wait and see what he does. Words and acts don't necessarily agree. Sometimes, however, a chance remark which has very little significance for the person who makes it, is like an aperture that lets in light on the whole character.” He cogitated a little, then added, ”Don't let them hurry you. Take time to know your man, and if you are not satisfied yourself, if there is anything that jars upon _you_, never mind what other people think, have nothing to do with him.”

When Beth went home, she found her mother sitting by the drawing-room window placidly knitting and looking out. ”I am afraid I am very late,” Beth said. ”I have been on the sands with Count Gustav.”

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