Lillian was
satisfied and happy; her rich, teeming fancy, her artistic mind,
and contented, sweet disposition would have rendered her happy
under any circumstances--but it was different with brilliant,
beautiful Beatrice. No wild bird in a cage ever pined for
liberty or chafed under restraint more than she did. She cried
out loudly against the unnatural solitude, the isolation of such
a life.
Eleven years had done much for Dora. The coy, girlish beauty
that had won Ronald Earle's heart had given place to a sweet,
patient womanhood. Constant association with one so elegant and
refined as Mrs. Vyvian had done for her what nothing else could
have achieved. Dora had caught the refined, high-bred accent,
the graceful, cultivated manner, the easy dignity. She had
become imbued with Mrs. Vyvian's noble thoughts and ideas.
Dora retained two peculiarities--one was a great dislike for
Ronald, the other a sincere dread of all love and lovers for her
children. From her they heard nothing but depreciation of men.
All men were alike, false, insincere, fickle, cruel; all love was
nonsense and folly.
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