"I have neither powder nor rouge in my room, but I have black patches, though I have never dared to use one, fearing to be accused of aping the great ladies."
"Betty, there are no great ladies so good and beautiful as you," said Frances, trying to check her weeping. "If I were a man, you should not go long without a chance for a husband."
"Oh, I've had chances in plenty," answered Betty, proudly. "But father says I'm too hard to suit and will die a maid. He says I want a gentleman, and—" (Here she sighed and glanced involuntarily toward me.) "He is right. I will have none other."
"Seek lower and fare better," said Frances.
"I don't know how it will all turn out," replied Betty with a sigh.
The topic seemed to be alive with sighs. "A woman may not choose, and
I suppose I shall one day take the man my father chooses, having no part
in the affair myself, though it is the most important one in my life."
"Nonsense, Betty," returned Frances. "You are like the rest of us, and when the right one comes, you will seek him if need be—in a cellar. Take my advice, Betty, when the right one comes, help him, and thank me ever after."
When we entered the house, Frances went with Betty to her room, leaving me in the tap-room, waiting to take my foolish cousin home.
To say that I was troubled would feebly express my state of mind. All my dreams of fortune for Frances and glory for her family had vanished. I did not know at that time that she and Hamilton had agreed never to meet again, though had I known, I should have put little faith in the compact.