That was
when Betty got married.
"It has been a great unhappiness to me, Major," she said. "In
spite of her daring ways, which an old woman like myself can't
quite understand, I was very fond of her. She was just the girl
for Leonard. They made such a handsome couple. I have never known
why it was broken off. Leonard won't tell me. It's out of the
question that it could be his fault, and I can't believe it is all
Betty Fairfax's. She's a girl of too much character to be a mere
jilt."
I remember that I couldn't help smiling at the application of the
old-fashioned word to my Betty.
"You may be quite certain she isn't that," said I.
"Then what was the reason? Do you know?"
I didn't. I was as mystified as herself. I told her so. I didn't
mention that a few days before she had implied that Leonard was a
devil and she wished that he was dead, thereby proving to me, who
knew Betty's uprightness, that Boyce and Boyce only was to blame
in the matter. It would have been a breach of confidence, and it
would not have made my old friend any the happier. It would have
fired her with flaming indignation against Betty.
"Young people," said I, "must arrange their own lives.
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