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Beth slipped the bright thing into her pocket. "I'll repent," she said, and seemed satisfied. It was a lovely day, and the passage from Kingstown to Holyhead was so smooth that everybody lounged about the deck, and no one was ill. Beth was very much interested, first in the receding shore, then in the people about her.
During the night the horse died, and Beth found when she went out next day that the carcass had been dragged down Murphy's garden and put in the lane outside. She climbed the wall, and discovered the farrier skinning the horse, and was much disgusted to see him using his hands without gloves on in such an operation.
Presently a torrent of dirty water came pouring down the spout, mingling its disagreeable soapy smell with that of the flowers. Beth plucked some petals from the rose she was smelling, set them on the soapy water, and ran down the passage beside them, until they disappeared in the drain in the street. This delight over, she wandered into the garden.
They had barely alighted and surrendered their horses to a friend of Van's when the rain from the hilltops swooped upon the camp in a fury that seemed like an elemental threat to sweep all the place, with its follies, hopes, and woes, its excitements, lawlessness, and struggles, from the face of the barren desert world. Beth and her maid were lame and numb.
"Well, but you ought to know better than to quote an author you have not read," he informed her. "Do you mean that I should read all a man's works before I presume to quote a single passage?" "I do," he replied. "Women never understand thoroughness," he observed, largely. "Some of us see a difference between thoroughness and niggling," Beth answered. "I should say, beware of endless preparation!
"When a man of that kind tells his wife to make the most of her life in her own way and be independent, he means 'Don't bother me; another woman is the delight of my senses! When he says to the other woman 'Be free! he means 'Throw yourself into my arms!" Angelica sighed. "Poor Beth!" she said, "what a fate to be tied to that plausible hog!"
I think I shall write books, and get rich and famous, that would suit me, so that is my favorite dream." "Mine is to stay at home safe with Father and Mother, and help take care of the family," said Beth contentedly. "Don't you wish for anything else?" asked Laurie. "Since I had my little piano, I am perfectly satisfied. I only wish we may all keep well and be together, nothing else."
Louise and Beth, having at last full knowledge of their cousin's desire to increase their bequests, were openly very grateful for her good will; although secretly they could not fail to resent Patsy's choice of the boy as the proper heir of his uncle's fortune. The balance of power seemed to be in Patricia's hands, however; so it would be folly at this juncture to offend her.
"Yes, do come," Beth answered gratefully, glad of the kindly human fellowship. "What is your name, may I ask?" "Ethel Maud Mary Gill; and what is yours, if you please?" "Elizabeth Caldwell Maclure." Beth had emptied her secret chamber and packed all her little possessions before she left Slane.
"Oh, Uncle Josiah!" involuntarily cried the girl as she caught a glimpse of the haggard face. The old man stopped, turned about, and looked up. "Now, ain't this surprising good luck to find you here!" he exclaimed. "I was just thinking about you, Beth." "Do your thoughts of me always make you sing like that?"
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