"What a pretty thing!" he said. "Oh, you smile at that." He reached up to put a lock of her brown hair back from her cheek, and then he put his arm round her.
Next day he was obliged to go away—Beth never thought of inquiring why or wherefore; but she heard her mother and Lady Benyon talking about the very eligible appointment he was hoping to get. He took an affectionate leave of her. When he had gone she went off to the sands, and was surprised to find how glad she was to be alone again. The tide was far out, and there were miles and miles of the hard buff sand, a great, open space, not empty to Beth, but teeming with thought and full of feeling. Some distance on in front of her there was a solitary figure, a man walking with bent head and hands folded behind him, holding a stick—Count Gustav Bartahlinsky's favourite attitude when deep in meditation. Beth hurried on, and soon overtook him.
"Would you rather be alone, Count Gustav?" she said.
He turned to look at her, then smiled, and they walked on together.
"So they are going to marry you off," he said abruptly.
"Yes," Beth answered laconically.
"Do you wish to be married?"
"No, I do not."
"Then why do you consent?"
"Because I'm weak; I can't help it," she said.