I galloped away from Glenby in a rage. What
a blessing Sara had not married me in my absurd
youth! She would have driven me wild with her
sighs and her obtuseness and her everlasting
pink-and-whiteness. But there — there — there —
gently! She was a sweet, good-hearted little
woman; she had made Jack happy; and she had contrived, heaven only knew how, to bring a rare creature like Betty into the world. For that, much
might be forgiven her. By the time I reached The
Maples and had flung myself down in an old, kinky,
comfortable chair in my library I had forgiven her
and was even paying her the compliment of thinking
seriously over what she had said.
Was Betty really unlike other girls? That is to say, unlike them in any respect wherein she should resemble them? I did not wish this; although I was a crusty old bachelor I approved of girls, holding them the sweetest things the good God has made. I wanted Betty to have her full complement of girlhood in all its best and highest manifestation. Was there anything lacking?
I observed Betty very closely during the next week or so, riding over to Glenby every day and riding back at night, meditating upon my observations. Eventually I concluded to do what I had never thought myself in the least likely to do. I would send Betty to a boarding-school for a year. It was
