We all came tacitly to agree that was precisely what would happen—all, that is, except my mother, who knew nothing about the matter.
It was a somewhat subdued Bettina who began that year; but I don't think it was in the Bettina of those days to be unhappy long.
(Oh, Bettina! how is it now?)
I don't know how anyone so loved and cherished could have gone on being actively unhappy. Besides, though the weeks went by and still Ranny did not reappear, there was a family reason to account for that. His father was very ill. Ranny's place was at home.
Hermione often gave us news of him that came through friends they had in common. And she spoke as though any week-end that found his father better, Ranny might motor down.
So we waited.
Bettina was a great deal with the Helmstone girls and their friends.
As for me, I was a great deal with my books in the copse. February, that year, was more like April, and all the violets and primroses rejoiced prematurely.
I, too.
I was extraordinarily happy. For I was sure I was finding a way out of all our difficulties. A glorious way. A way Eric would applaud and love me for finding—all alone like this.