They had loved each other ever since the Mayfairs
had come to Briarsfield three years ago. Mr. and Mrs. Mayfair were
sitting on the veranda. Beth had always loved Mrs. Mayfair; she was such
a bright girlish woman, in spite of her dignity and soft grey hair. Mr.
Mayfair, too, had a calm, pleasing manner. To Beth's literary mind there
was something about the Mayfair home that reminded her of a novel. They
were wealthy people, at least supposed to be so, who had settled in
Briarsfield to live their lives in rural contentment.
It was a pretty room of Edith's that she took Beth into--a pleasing
confusion of curtains, books, music, and flowers, with a guitar lying
on the coach. There was a photo on the little table that caught Beth's
attention. It was Mr. Ashley, the classical master in Briarsfield High
School, for Briarsfield could boast a High School. He and Edith had
become very friendly, and village gossip was already linking their
names. Beth looked up and saw Edith watching her with a smiling,
blushing face. The next minute she threw both arms about Beth.
"Can't you guess what I was going to tell you, Beth, dear?"
"Why, Edith, are you and Mr. Ashley--"
"Yes, dear.
Pages:
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27