“Is this club too exciting for you, my child?”
“Oh no, I love it!” said Betty. Her manner changed at the moment. “And, please, don’t take my hand. I—oh, it isn’t that I don’t want to hold your hand; but I—I am not worthy! Of course I will stay in the grounds to please you. Good-bye.”
CHAPTER XII
A VERY EVENTFUL DAY
Having got leave to take her walk, Betty started off with vigor. The fresh, keen air soothed her depressed spirits; and soon she was racing wildly against the gale, the late autumn leaves falling against her dress and face as she ran. She would certainly keep her word to Mrs. Haddo, although her desire—if she had a very keen desire at that moment—was again to vault over those hideous prison-bars, and reach the farm, and receive the caresses of Dan and Beersheba. But a promise is a promise, and this could not be thought of. She determined, therefore, to tire herself out by walking.
She had managed to avoid all her companions. The Specialities were very much occupied making arrangements for the evening. The twins had found friends of their own, and were happily engaged. No one noticed Betty as she set forth. She walked as far as the deserted gardens. Then she crossed the waste land, and stood for a minute looking at that poor semblance of Scotch heather which grew in an exposed corner. She felt inclined to kick it, so great was her contempt for the flower which could not bloom out of its native soil. Then suddenly her mood changed. She fell on her knees, found a bit of heather which still had a few nearly withered bells on it; and, raising it tenderly to her lips, kissed it. “Poor little exile!” she said. “Well, I am an exile too!”
She rose and skirted the waste land; at one side there was a somewhat steep incline which led through a plantation to a more cultivated part of the extensive grounds. Betty had never been right round the grounds of Haddo Court before, and was pleased at their size, and, on a day like this, at their wildness. She tried to picture herself back in Scotland. Once she shut her eyes for a minute, and bringing her vivid imagination to her aid, seemed to see Donald Macfarlane and Jean Macfarlane in their cosy kitchen; while Donald said, “It’ll be a braw day to-morrow;” or perhaps it was the other way round, and Jean remarked, “There’ll be a guid sprinklin’ o’ snaw before mornin’, or I am much mistook.”