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Page 2
Then a soft expression crossed the face of the dreamer. She leaned
back, her eyes closed and a light smile played about her lips. She was
thinking of one who had encouraged her so earnestly--a tall, slender
youth, with light curly hair, blue eyes and a fair, almost girlish,
face--too fair and delicate for the ideal of most girls: but Beth
admired its paleness and delicate features, and Clarence Mayfair had
come to be often in her thoughts. She remembered quite well when the
Mayfairs had moved into the neighborhood and taken possession of the
fine old manor beside the lake, and she had become friends with the only
daughter, Edith, at school, and then with Clarence. Clarence wrote such
pretty little poems, too. This had been the foundation of their
friendship, and, since their tastes and ambitions were so much alike,
what if--
Her eyes grew brighter, and she almost fancied he was looking down into
her face. Oh, those eyes--hush, maiden heart, be still. She smiled at
the white cloud drifting westward--a little boat-shaped cloud, with two
white figures in it, sailing in the summer blue. The breeze ruffled her
dark hair. There fell a long shadow on the grass beside her.
"Clarence--Mr. Mayfair! I didn't see you coming. When did you get home?"
"Last night. I stayed in Toronto till the report of our 'exams' came
out."
"I see you have been successful," she replied. "Allow me to congratulate
you."
"Thank you. I hear you are coming to 'Varsity this fall, Miss Woodburn.
Don't you think it quite an undertaking? I'm sure I wish you joy of the
hard work."
"Why, I hope you are not wearying of your course in the middle of it,
Mr. Mayfair. It is only two years till you will have your B.A."
"Two years' hard work, though; and, to tell the truth, a B.A. has lost
its charms for me. I long to devote my life more fully to literature.
That is my first ambition, you know, and I seem to be wasting so much
time."
"You can hardly call time spent that way wasted," she answered. "You
will write all the better for it by and by."
Then they plunged into one of their old-time literary talks of authors
and books and ambitions. Beth loved these talks. There was no one else
in Briarsfield she could discuss these matters with like Clarence. She
was noticing meanwhile how much paler he looked than when she saw him
last, but she admired him all the more. There are some women who love a
man all the more for being delicate. It gives them better opportunities
to display their womanly tenderness. Beth was one of these.
"By the way, I mustn't forget my errand," Clarence exclaimed after a
long chat.
He handed her a dainty little note, an invitation to tea from his sister
Edith. Beth accepted with pleasure. She blushed as he pressed her hand
in farewell, and their eyes met. That look and touch of his went very
deep--deeper than they should have gone, perhaps; but the years will
tell their tale. She watched him going down the hill-side in the
afternoon sunshine, then fell to dreaming again. What if, after all, she
should not always stay alone with daddy? If someone else should
come--And she began to picture another study where she should not have
to write alone, but there should be two desks by the broad windows
looking out on the lake, and somebody should--
"Beth! Beth! come and set the tea-table. My hands is full with them
cherries."
Beth's dream was a little rudely broken by Mrs. Martin's voice, but she
complacently rose and went into the house.
Mrs. Martin was a small grey-haired woman, very old-fashioned; a prim,
good old soul, a little sharp-tongued, a relic of bygone days of
Canadian life. She had been Dr. Woodburn's housekeeper ever since Beth
could remember, and they had always called her "Aunt Prudence."
"What did that gander-shanks of a Mayfair want?" asked the old lady with
a funny smile, as Beth was bustling about.
"Oh, just come to bring an invitation to tea from Edith."
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