heart right before her eyes--that is, Mrs. General Games did, but
Miss Araminta Armstrong, who is over fifty and by nature sentimental
and sympathetic, said she supposed it was natural for youth to seek
consolation, and Whythe, poor dear, had been so heartbroken at
Elizabeth's behavior that he had been receptive to other influences of
a pleasing nature, and she didn't think they ought to be so hard on
him. And then, after more talk of that sort, she would sigh and look
away at the mountains in the distance with a loved-and-lost look in her
eyes, and Miss Bettie Simcoe would sit up and snort.

There's nothing sentimental or sympathetic about Miss Bettie. Neither
is there anything in the earth below or the heavens above that she has
not an opinion of her own about, but the one concerning which she has
the most decided opinions is Man. She doesn't mince matters when she
gets on him. Also, she is an authority on God. She can tell you
exactly why He does things, and she quotes Him as if He were her most
confidential friend, and the only thing which stumps her is why He made
such a mess of what is considered His most important work. Mention a
male person's name and up go her eyebrows and down come the corners of
her lips and on the side goes her head, and nothing need be said for
her opinion to be understood. She is positively triumphant over
Whythe. She goes around with a "Didn't-I-tell-you-so?" expression
oozing out of every feature of her face, and I think she tells
Elizabeth she is fortunate to have discovered his fickleness so soon.

If Elizabeth thinks she is fortunate she has a queer way of showing it.
She must cry a good deal at night, judging by her eyes in the morning,
but the thing that's most the matter with her is madness. She can't
take it in that Whythe is showing no signs of anxiousness to make up.
She imagined, I suppose, when they had their fuss that it wouldn't last
very long and that he would give in to whatever she wanted, and now
that he isn't giving in she is so freezingly furious with me she barely
speaks to me. She seems to think it is my fault and that my coming
just when I did is the cause of the whole trouble. Though she never
says anything directly to me, she makes remarks in my presence about
the way men flirt in Twickenham Town and how dangerous it is,
especially for young girls who have never had any experience in things
of that sort and are deceived by it; and as she talks I just ro