She had not been so completely beaten since the day when her own Bessie left the house and went away to a wild West to die in her own time and way.

The grandmother shed a few tears.

This girl was like her own Bessie, and she could not help loving her, though there was a streak of something else about her that made her seem above them all; and that was hard to bear.

It must be the Bailey streak, of course.

Mrs.Brady did not admire the Baileys, but she was obliged to reverence them.
If she had watched or followed Elizabeth, she would have been still more horrified.