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Yes, she would wear that to the Mayfair's next day, and there were white moss roses at the dining-room window that would just match. So thinking she laid it carefully away and slept her girl's sleep that night. It was late the next afternoon when Beth stood before the mirror fastening the moss roses in her belt.
It was Clarence Mayfair's; he was paler than usual, and his light curly hair looked almost artificial in the gaslight. There was something sadder and more manly in his expression, and his eyes were fixed on Beth with a reverent look. How pure she was, he thought, how serene; her brow looked as though an angel-hand had smoothed it in her slumber.
Was that her footstep overhead? Oh, to be near her to touch her hand just once! Then a stern, dark frown settled on his brow. He rose and paced the room with a sort of frenzied step. What is she to you Clarence Mayfair's promised wife? Arthur Grafton, what is she to you? Oh, that love, deep and passionate, that comes to us but once!
I thought you seemed my brother almost I thought you would always be that. Oh, Arthur! Arthur! how can you how dare you talk so? I am Clarence Mayfair's promised wife." "Clarence Mayfair's " The words died away on his white lips. He leaned upon the mantel-piece, and Beth stood with her grey eyes fixed. His face was so deathly white.
It was strange, but though he had seen all the other girls in the house he had never seen Beth. He had not enquired her address the year before, not wishing to know. He wished to have nothing to do with Clarence Mayfair's promised wife. She was nothing to him. Should he encourage the love he felt for another's wife? No!
Liebig: "Organic Chemistry," Mayfair's translation, p.363.
He had come under cover of the darkness, and had seen her descending the great wide stairway in her white muslin dress, and going down the dark street toward the Mayfairs'. After a little while he had followed, even approached the windows of Clarence Mayfair's home, hoping for one last look. But he had passed her in the shadow of the trees, and had only seen what filled his heart with sorrow.
Then there were so many books that Beth intended to read in that vacation! Marie had come to the Mayfair's, too, and helped her to pass some pleasant hours. But there was something else that was holding Beth's attention. It was Saturday evening, and that story was almost finished, that story on which she had built so many hopes.
To the Duke, Nellie O'Mora had never been a very vital figure. He had often repeated the legend of her. But, having never known what love was, he could not imagine her rapture or her anguish. Himself the quarry of all Mayfair's wise virgins, he had always so far as he thought of the matter at all suspected that Nellie's death was due to thwarted ambition.
There she was Beth Woodburn! The woman he hush! Clarence Mayfair's promised wife! She looked even beautiful as she stood there in the light, with a smile on her face and a pure white chrysanthemum at her throat. "You needn't hurry so, Mabel dear. I can wait," she said as her friend approached.
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