Just wherein a Malroy
differed from the rest of the sons of men she had never paused to
consider, it sufficed that there was a hazy Malroy genealogy that
went back to tidewater Virginia, and then if one were not meanly
curious, and would skip a generation or two that could not be
accounted for in ways any Malroy would accept, one might
triumphantly follow the family to a red-roofed Sussex manor
house. Altogether, it was a highly satisfactory genealogy and it
had Betty's entire faith. The Nortons were every bit as good as
the Malroys, which was saying a great deal. Their history was
quite as pretentious, quite as vague, and as hopelessly involved
in the mists of tradition.
Inexplicably enough, Betty found that her thoughts had wandered
to Carrington; which was very singular, as she had long since
formed a resolution not to think of him at all. Yet she
remembered with satisfaction his manner that afternoon, it left
nothing to be desired. He was probably understanding the
impassable gulf that separated them--education, experience,
feeling, everything that made up the substance of life but
deepened and widened this gulf. He belonged to that shifting,
adventurous population which was far beneath the slave-holding
aristocracy, at least he more nearly belonged to this lower order
than to any other. She fixed his status relentlessly as
something to be remembered when they should meet again. At last,
with a little puckering of the brows and a firm contraction of
the lips, she dismissed the Kentuckian from her thoughts.
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