CHAPTER III
DAVID
WHEN Betsey went, two days later, along the hill road again she walked far more quickly and did not hesitate at the turning of the lane. She was on her way to Aunt Susan's to announce her determination and she felt, this time, neither irresolution nor reluctance. She went firmly up the graveled drive, asked the grave butler whether her aunt were at home, and, waiting in the big, impressive drawing room, even heard the approaching rustle of Aunt Susan's elaborate silk skirts without feeling her courage give way.
"I have made up my mind not to go."
She got it out quickly, almost before a word of greeting had passed. "My father wants me to go to college and my mother did, too. If I should leave my work now I feel sure I would not do what I have planned. So—so I must stay."
There was no need for her to say how much she wished for the journey. She felt, in fact, that it was wise to say as little as possible and to bend all her efforts to resisting the storm of arguments and
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