But I saw more than that.
I saw that I, too, had been drifting. I had no idea where any of us were. Where was my mother in her lonely struggle? Where was Bettina, in her ignorance, straying? I, myself? I had been content with dreaming. Or with waking now and then to thrill at stories about other people's courage, insight, indomitable patience. Why should I not rouse myself and nerve myself? Why should not I, too, scorn delight and live laborious days?
It was then the Great Idea came to me.
CHAPTER XII
OUR FIRST BALL
Eric stayed nearly eight weeks instead of three. Yet I let him go away without a word about the radical change that had come over a life outwardly the same.
That was the year I was eighteen. But I still did lessons with my mother—French and German, and English history. I asked her to let me leave off history, and allow me to work by myself a little. I wanted to surprise her, by-and-by, so she was not to question me.
I studied a great deal harder than she knew. When we sat down to breakfast at half-past eight I would usually have three hours of work behind me. Often when Bettina and I were both supposed to be at the Helmstones, I had stayed behind in the copse "to read." This would be when I knew Ranny Dallas was not at the Hall.
I still thought that, like all the other young men who came there, he was attracted by Hermione. But I could not forget that Bettina "liked him best"—liked him more than the man she had allowed to kiss her, and who had not cared for her at all.