He is not such a bad sort of man, and he is
well off."
They had been walking rapidly, and now they were reaching the spot known
as the "Amphitheatre," that same spot where Owen Davies had proposed to
Beatrice some seven months before.
Beatrice passed round the projecting edge of rock, and walked some way
towards the flat slab of stone in the centre before she answered.
While she did so a great and bitter anger filled her heart. She saw,
or thought she saw, it all. Geoffrey wished to be rid of her. He had
discerned an element of danger in their intimacy, and was anxious to
make that intimacy impossible by pushing her into a hateful marriage.
Suddenly she turned and faced him--turned like a thing at bay. The last
red rays of the sunset struck upon her lovely face made more lovely
still by its stamp of haughty anger: they lay upon her heaving
breast. Full in the eyes she looked him with those wide angry eyes of
hers--never before had he seen her so imperial a mien. Her dignity and
the power of her presence literally awed him, for at times Beatrice's
beauty was of that royal stamp which when it hides a heart, is a
compelling force, conquering and born to conquer.
Pages:
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360