But the artist-woman never marries for the sake of being married--or rather for the sake of not being unmarried--as so many of her more ordinary sisters do; her art supplies her with that necessary interest in life, without which most women become either invalids or shrews, and--unless she happens to meet the right man--she can manage very well without him.
George Farringdon's son had never turned up, in spite of all the efforts to discover him; and by this time Elisabeth had settled down into the belief that the Willows and the Osierfield were permanently hers.

She had long ago forgiven Christopher for setting her and her interests aside, and going off in search of the lost heir--at least she believed that she had; but there was always an undercurrent of bitterness in her thoughts of him, which proved that the wound he had then dealt her had left a scar.
Several men had wanted to marry Elisabeth, but they had not succeeded in winning her.

She enjoyed flirting with them, and she rejoiced in their admiration, but when they offered her their love she was frightened and ran away.

Consequently the world called her cold; and as the years rolled on and no one touched her heart, she began to believe that the world was right.
"There are three great things in life," Grace Cobham said to her one day, "art and love and religion.

They really are all part of the same thing, and none of them is perfected without the others.