When she came in, Elizabeth had been thinking of Owen Davies, and of
what might have happened had she never seen the tide of life flow back
into her sister's veins. She had dreamed of it all night and had thought
of it all day; even in the excitement of extracting the back tithe from
the recalcitrant and rather coarse-minded Welsh farmer, with strong
views on the subject of tithe, it had not been entirely forgotten. The
farmer was a tenant of Owen Davies, and when he called her a "parson in
petticoats, and wus," and went on, in delicate reference to her powers
of extracting cash, to liken her to a "two-legged corkscrew only
screwier," she perhaps not unnaturally reflected, that if ever--_pace_
Beatrice--certain things should come about, she would remember that
farmer. For Elizabeth was blessed with a very long memory, as some
people had learnt to their cost, and generally, sooner or later, she
paid her debts in full, not forgetting the overdue interest.
And now, as she stood in the doorway unseen and noted these matters,
something occurred to her in connection with this dominating idea,
which, like ideas in general, had many side issues.
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