Would you
do that, Catherine? Speak for yourself; would you?"
"How old are you, Beatrice?" asked Catherine.
"I am nineteen; never mind my age, that has nothing whatever to say to
the question I want you to answer."
"I asked you about your age on purpose--because I can't answer your
question. You are nineteen, I am seventeen. I feel like a child still; I
don't understand anything about loving people as you talk of love; but I
could be kind, and if it lay in my power to keep hearts from breaking I
think I'd be very glad to do it, and then Loftie _is_ nice, Bee."
Beatrice sighed. For the first time there was a gulf between her and
Catherine. As an intelligent and intellectual companion, as an
affectionate friend, Catherine was perfect; but in matters pertaining to
love--that great mystery which comes into most lives--her unawakened
heart was as a blank.
"You ask a great deal," said Beatrice, rising to her feet with
irritation. "For some reason, I don't know what, I am of value to you
and yours. I am not in your rank of life, still you want me. Your mother
is troubled, and in some inexplicable way I, an ignorant and uninformed
country girl, can relieve her. This is all very fine for you, but what
about me? I sacrifice myself forever to give temporary relief.
Pages:
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234