_MARIE._
"Isn't she pretty?"
"She's picturesque looking."
"Pretty? picturesque? I think she's ugly!"
These were the varied opinions of a group of Briarsfield girls who were
at the station when the evening train stopped. The object of their
remarks was a slender girl whom the Mayfairs received with warmth. It
was Marie de Vere--graceful, brown-eyed, with a small olive face and
daintily dressed brown hair. This was the girl that Beth and Arthur were
introduced to when they went to the Mayfairs to tea a few days later.
Beth recalled the last evening she was there to tea. Only a few days had
since passed, and yet how all was changed!
"Do you like Miss de Vere?" asked Clarence, after Beth had enjoyed a
long conversation with her.
"Oh, yes! I'm just delighted with her! She has such kind eyes, and she
seems to understand one so well!"
"You have fallen in love at first sight. The pleasure on your face makes
up for the long time I have waited to get you alone. Only I wish you
would look at me like you looked at Miss de Vere just now," he said,
trying to look dejected.
She laughed. Those little affectionate expressions always pleased her,
for she wondered sometimes if Clarence could be a cold and unresponsive
husband. He was not a very ardent lover, and grey-eyed, intellectual
Beth Woodburn had a love-hungering heart, though few people knew it.
"Do you know," said Beth, "Miss de Vere has told me that there is a
vacant room at her boarding-house. She is quite sure she can get it for
me this winter. Isn't she kind? I believe we shall be great friends."
"Yes, you will enjoy her friendship. She is a clever artist and
musician, you know. Edith says she lives a sort of Bohemian life in
Toronto. Her rooms are littered with music and painting and literature."
"How nice! Her face looks as if she had a story, too. There's something
sad in her eyes."
"She struck me as being remarkably lively," said Clarence.
"Oh, yes, but there are lively people who have secret sorrows. Look,
there she is walking with Arthur toward the lake."
Clarence smiled for a moment.
"Perhaps fate may see fit to link them together," he said.
"Oh, no, I don't think so! I can't imagine it."
"Grafton's a fine fellow, isn't he?"
"I'm glad you like him so well, Clarence. He's just like my brother, you
know. We had such an earnest talk Sunday night. He made me feel, oh, I
don't know how. But do you know, my life isn't consecrated to God,
Clarence; is yours?"
They were walking under the stars of the open night, and Clarence looked
thoughtful for a moment, then answered unhesitatingly:
"No, Beth. I settled that long ago. I don't think we need to be
consecrated. So long as we are Christians and live fairly consistent
lives, I think that suffices. Of course, with people like Arthur Grafton
it is different. But as for us we are consecrated to art, you know, in
the shape of writing. Let us make the utmost of our talents."
"Yes, we are consecrated to art," said Beth with a sigh of relief, and
began talking of Marie.
Since Beth was to leave home in the fall, she did not go away during the
summer, and consequently saw much of Marie during the few weeks she
stayed at Briarsfield. It is strange how every life we come in contact
with leaves its impress upon ourselves! It was certainly so with Marie
and Beth. Marie had seen so much of the world and of human life, and
Beth had always lived so quietly there in her own village, that now a
restlessness took possession of her to get away far beyond the horizon
of Briarsfield.
The days passed on as days will pass. Clarence was home most of the
time, and he and Beth had many walks together in the twilight, and
sometimes in the morning. What delightful walks they were in the cool of
the early summer morning! There was one especially pretty spot where
they used to rest along the country road-side. It was a little hill-top,
with the ground sloping down on either side, then rising again in great
forest-crowned hills. Two oak trees, side by side, shaded them as they
watched the little clouds sailing over the harvest fields.
Arthur was with them a great deal of the summer, and Beth was occupied
with preparations for leaving home. She used to talk to Arthur about
Marie sometimes, but he disappointed her by his coldness. She fancied
that he did not altogether approve of Marie.