His nature was so full of her that it could no longer hold any thought of Clarice. And for a little while, as Bellairs dived into Betty's heart, he was astonished at the passion he found there, and congratulated himself on having released her from bondage. Now, at least, he was teaching her to be herself. He was killing the echo and creating a voice, a beautiful, clear, radiant voice that would sing to him, to him alone.
“Betty has a great deal in her,” he said to Clarice once.
“Yes—a great deal. Who put it there, do you think?”
“Who? Why, nobody. Surely you would not say that all you yourself have of—of strength, originality, courage, was put into you by some other man or woman.”
“No. I would not say that. But then—I am not Betty.”
Bellairs felt irritated.
“Please don't run Betty down,” he exclaimed hastily.
“I! I run down Betty! I don't think you understand what I feel about Betty. She is the one perfect being I know. I worship her.”
“I am sure you do,” he said, mollified. “And you have done much for her, perhaps too much.”
“I cannot tell that—yet,” Clarice answered. “Some day I may know whether I have done very much, or very little.”