e silence which followed stole a look
now and then at John Hunter, revelling in his well-groomed appearance. A
vision of her father's slatternly, one-suspendered shoulders, and
button-less sleeves flapping about his rough brown wrists, set against
this well-shirted gentleman produced sharp contrast and made of the future
a thing altogether desirable. The useless arguments between her parents
arose before her also; she resolved to argue less and love more. It was
something, she reflected, to know when to lay an argument down. Besides,
John wanted it. Leaning over, she rubbed her cheek softly against his
sleeve.

"I never thought I could be so happy." The words were whispered tenderly,
as she looked up into his face.

Could mortal man fail to appreciate the manner of the surrender? There was
nothing left to argue about; all had been granted. Elizabeth was learning,
as all women have had to do before her, that the man-creature loves to be
adored, that by cloaking her own desires, stroking his fur the right way,
giving it little pats of approval and admitting the pleasure conferred by
his presence, she could work a magic. John's arm dropped about her and she
gave herself up to the delights of being cuddled.

It was not possible for the inexperienced girl to measure the importance
of the freedom she had surrendered. Elizabeth desired to forget the
unpleasant things. Real issues were obscured for the girl by her desire to
escape from her father's house. In addition to that, Elizabeth had not yet
become analytical. Instead of meditating upon the manner or the
positiveness of her lover's commands, she took counsel with herself how to
make their lives different from her parents', and in her efforts to keep
her own attitude right forgot to see to it that there was a similar
attitude on the part of her future husband.

As they drove along with John's arm about her they ceased to talk, and
Elizabeth's thoughts drifted off to her affairs with her father and the
night just spent at home. Mr. Farnshaw had adopted the policy of
contemptuous silence toward her, and Elizabeth hoped devoutly that he
would continue in that frame of mind. Only so would she dare to spend at
home the weeks between the close of school and her marriage. She had
counted much upon spending those weeks with Aunt Susan, who daily became
dearer. She was not moved to tell Aunt Susan girlish secrets, but she was
understood and rightly valued in Susan Hornby's home;