ff? Not she.
Give them time, and we shall see. They will ruin each other--they _must_
ruin each other; it won't be child's play when two people like that fall
in love. They will not stop at sighs, there is too much human nature
about them. It was a good idea to get him into the house. And to see her
go on with that child Effie, just as though she was its mother--it makes
me laugh. Ah, Beatrice, with all your wits you are a silly woman! And
one day, my dear girl, I shall have the pleasure of exposing you to
Owen; the idol will be unveiled, and there will be an end of your
chances with him, for he can't marry you after that. Then my turn will
come. It is a question of time--only a question of time!"

So brooded Elizabeth in her heart, madded with malicious envy and
passionate jealousy. She loved this man, Owen Davies, as much as she
could love anybody; at the least, she dearly loved the wealth and
station of which he was the visible centre, and she hated the sister
whom he desired. If she could only discredit that sister and show her
to be guilty of woman's worst crime, misplaced, unlegalised affection,
surely, she thought, Owen would reject her.

She was wrong. She did not know how entirely he desired to make Beatrice
his wife, or realise how forgiving a man can be who has such an end to
gain. It is of the women who already weary them and of their infidelity
that men are so ready to make examples, not of those who do not belong
to them, and whom they long for night and day. To these they can be very
merciful.

CHAPTER XIII

GEOFFREY LECTURES

Meanwhile Beatrice was walking homewards with an uneasy mind. The
trouble was upon her. She had, it is true, succeeded in postponing it
a little, but she knew very well that it was only a postponement. Owen
Davies was not a man to be easily shaken off. She almost wished now that
she had crushed the idea once and for all. But then he would have gone
to her father, and there must have been a scene, and she was weak enough
to shrink from that, especially while Mr. Bingham was in the house. She
could well imagine the dismay, not to say the fury, of her money-loving
old father if he were to hear that she had refused--actually
refused--Owen Davies of Bryngelly Castle, and all his wealth.

Then there was Elizabeth to be reckoned with. Elizabeth would assuredly
make her life a burden to her. Beatrice little guessed that nothing
would suit her sister's book better. Oh, if only she