While she had promised to marry me, still there was a coldness,
perhaps I should say a calmness, in her manner toward me, and a
cautiousness in holding me aloof which seemed to indicate a desire on her
part for a better establishment in life than I could give, if perchance
a better offered. My suit had not prospered, though it had not failed,
since she was to be my wife provided she found no more eligible husband
within a reasonable time.
Dangling blunts the edge of ardor; therefore I soon found myself noticing
beauty elsewhere and discovered none that could be compared with that of
Betty Pickering of the Old Swan. It is true she was, in a sense, a
barmaid, and equally true that I had no thought of marrying her. Still it
was significant even at that early time that my mind reverted to the fact
that Edward Hyde, Lord Chancellor of England and Earl of Clarendon, had
married an innkeeper's widow, whose daughter became the mother of two
queens.
While this was true, still I respected Betty less than I admired her and
far less than she deserved, never entirely forgetting her station in life
nor ceasing to recognize the great distance between us.
When I entered the Old Swan, Betty greeted me with a smile amid a nest of
dimples, and led me upstairs to her parlor, so that we might talk without
being overheard. I sat down on a settle, and Betty took her place beside
me. Her hands rested on her lap, giving her an air of contentment as she
turned her face toward me and asked:--
"Have you come to see Master Hamilton?"
"Yes," I answered, "and you.
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