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 necessary that she
should learn how to live with other girls.
I went over to Glenby the next day and found Betty under the
beeches on the lawn, just back from a canter. She was sitting on
the dappled mare I had given her on her last birthday, and was
laughing at the antics of her rejoicing dogs around her. I
looked at her with much pleasure; it gladdened me to see how
much, nay, how totally a child she still was, despite her
Churchill height. Her hair, under her velvet cap, still hung
over her shoulders in the same thick plaits; her face had the
firm leanness of early youth, but its curves were very fine and
delicate. The brown skin, that worried Sara so, was flushed
through with dusky color from her gallop; her long, dark eyes
were filled with the beautiful unconsciousness of childhood.
More than all, the soul in her was still the soul of a child. I
found myself wishing that it could always remain so. But I knew
it could not; the woman must blossom out some day; it was my duty
to see that the flower fulfilled the promise of the bud.
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