Good afternoon, Miss Elizabeth. It will soon
be settled now; it cannot go on much longer now. My prayers will be
answered, I know they will."
"You are right there, Owen Davies," thought Elizabeth, as she looked
after him with ineffable bitterness, not to say contempt. "Your prayers
shall be answered in a way that will astonish you. You shall not marry
Beatrice, and you shall marry _me_. The fish has been on the line long
enough, now I must begin to pull in."
Curiously enough it never really occurred to Elizabeth that Beatrice
herself might prove to be the true obstacle to the marriage she plotted
to prevent. She knew that her sister was fond of Geoffrey Bingham, but,
when it came to the point that she would absolutely allow her affection
to interfere with so glorious a success in life, she never believed for
one moment. Of course she thought it was possible that if Beatrice could
get possession of Geoffrey she might prefer to do so, but failing him,
judging from her own low and vulgar standard, Elizabeth was convinced
that she would take Owen. It did not seem possible that what was so
precious in her own eyes might be valueless and even hateful to those of
her sister.
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