THE DREAM OF LOVE
The Christmas festivities closed with a bang, the visitors departed,
and the county settled down to dullness between the new year and the
springtime. Those of the young people who could, went away to the
cities for the gay season. Betty Beverley was left very much alone, but
this she did not mind. Indeed, it was rather a respite to her. Betty,
like all her kind, had a heart, and was brimming over with emotions.
Until that Christmas time, her heart and her emotions had been her
sport, and she had gone upon her cruel path distributing smiles and
downcast glances and pretty phrases impartially, among many admirers.
But the coquette always comes to grief at last, and is throttled when
the great master passion awakes. Betty was still coquettish to all the
world except to Fortescue. It is true he had not asked her outright
to marry him, but Betty rather liked the graduated steps toward the
ultimate heights of joy. Being a confident creature, she had no doubt
that Fortescue was hers, but she was quite willing to put off the
time when the unseen bonds should become the visible chain. For these
Southern coquettes develop naturally into devoted and adoring wives,
with no eyes for any man but one.
There had been glorious winter weather up to New Year, but within a
week the January storms set up, and for two months there was sleet and
snow. The small brown house was shut in, and there was little passing
back and forth among the county people. The bad weather kept Betty at
home many Sundays from the old Colonial church, with its venerable
rector. The Colonel's rheumatism was much encouraged by the stormy
season, and he too was house-bound. In this time of solitude, Betty
lived in two worlds, one the narrow walls of Holly Lodge, and the other
the great and splendid world of the imagination, the Arcady of youth
and love. As she looked out of her dormer window toward Rosehill,
a mysterious smile shone upon her speaking face as she saw herself
once more the mistress of the fine old house. It is true there was an
obstacle to be got over. This was Fortescue's profession, because he
had told her how a soldier was sent hither and yon. Betty was the last
girl in the world to ask a man to give up his profession, and, most of
all, the profession of arms, but youth and inexperience can rearrange,
in theory, the pawns upon the chessboard of life.
Fortescue kept up an active siege. Every week came flowers from
him, or a book, or a box of bonbons, something to remind Betty of
his existence. Constantly little white notes were written by Betty,
thanking him, and with a word or two of deeper meaning. Betty reckoned,
as a certainty, that in the spring Fortescue would return with the
officers who were to make the military survey. There would be at least
a dozen officers, so Fortescue had told Betty, and they were to have a
camp on the Colonel's land, only five miles away, and although there
would be much work, there would also be a little play.
As Betty looked out of the window on the wintry scene, she imagined it
in the first bloom of the early spring, the leaden skies turned to a
sapphire blue, the frozen earth all brown and green and odoriferous,
the naked branches of the trees and shrubs were transformed into
their first sweet budding, and the silver river seemed dancing in the
sun. Betty was a busy little soul, and had not much time for reverie,
particularly as she was hard at work on her summer clothes, making
dainty little muslin frocks for herself, which she could do very well.
But there was a magic hour in her own little room after she was ready
for bed, when the candles were out and only the scarlet and golden
glory of the firelight shone upon her. Then Betty, in a smart little
rose-colored dressing gown, which was the pride of her heart, would
huddle against the dormer window that looked toward Rosehill, and think
thoughts and dream dreams.