eable. Mrs.
Dallas was in a high state of contentment, trusting that all things
were going well for her hopes concerning her son and Miss Frere; but
Betty herself was going through an experience of infinite pain. It was
impossible not to enjoy at the moment these enjoyable things; the life
at Pitt's old Kensington house was like a fairy tale for strangeness
and prettiness; but Betty was living now under a clear impression of
the fact that it _was_ a fairy tale, and that she must presently walk
out of it. And gradually the desire grew uppermost with her to walk out
of it soon, while she could do so with grace and of her own accord. The
pretty house which she had so delighted in began to oppress her. She
would presently be away, and have no more to do with it; and somebody
else would be brought there to reign and enjoy as mistress. It
tormented Betty, that thought. Somebody else would come there, would
have a right there; would be cherished and cared for and honoured, and
have the privilege of standing by Pitt in his works and plans, helping
him, and sympathizing with him. A floating image of a fair, stately
woman, with speaking grey eyes and a wonderful pure face, would come
before her when she thought of these things, though she told herself it
was little likely that _she_ would be the one; yet Betty could think of
no other, and almost felt superstitiously sure at last that Esther it
would be, in spite of everything. Esther it would be, she was almost
sure, if she, Betty, spoke one little word of information; would she
have done well to speak it? Now it was too late.

'I think, Mrs. Dallas,' she began, one day, 'I cannot stay much longer
with you. Probably you and Mr. Dallas may make up your minds to remain
here all the winter; I should think you would. If I can hear of
somebody going home that I know, I will go, while the season is good.'

Mrs. Dallas roused up, and objected vehemently. Betty persisted.

'I am in a false position here,' she said. 'It was all very well at
first; things came about naturally, and it could not be helped; and I
am sure I have enjoyed it exceedingly; but, dear Mrs. Dallas, I cannot
stay here always, you know. I am ashamed to remember how long it is
already.'

'My dear, I am sure my son is delighted to have you,' said Mrs. Dallas,
looking at her.

'He is not delighted at all,' said Betty, half laughing. Poor girl, she
was not in the least light-hearted; bitterness can laugh as easily as