"I don't want her to feel hurt. I'd just like to go and tell her, I am so happy."
He looked so brave and manly that Joe was almost sorry not to send him. But he did know that his mother objected to it strenuously, and might say something that would cut Ben to the heart.
Latterly, he had been cherishing a vague belief that the affair would end in a sort of a good comradeship.
"Thank you," Ben laid his hand on the elder's shoulder. "You are a dear good brother, Joe. Don't you suppose you will ever marry? No one will be quite good enough for you. You're a splendid fellow."
Joe went back to his book; but it had lost interest. Well—it was rather queer. He had been made very welcome in several houses; and Margaret had given delicate little suggestions. But he had never cared for any one. He would be nine and twenty on his next birthday,—quite a bachelor.
It was somewhat curious; but Ben, who had never cared for fixing up, though he was always clean, suddenly developed a new care for his cuffs and collars, and indulged in light-coloured neckties, and gloves that he could no longer "run and jump in," as Jim had accused him of doing. He went out Sunday evening to tea, which was a new thing, though he often stayed at the Whitneys' through the week. There was a certain air of being of supreme consequence to some one; Mrs. Underhill rather resented it.
Jim was very gay this winter. A good-looking young collegian who was bright and full of fun, and could sing college glees in a fine tenor voice, tell a capital story, and dance well, was not likely to go begging.
One evening he stumbled over his old friend Lily Ludlow, whom he had not seen for two years,—a tall, stylish girl, handsome in the ordinary acceptation of the word, but lacking some of the finer qualities, if you studied her closely. There had been some great changes in her life. Her father had died suddenly, leaving but small provision for them. Chris had her hands full trying to live pretentiously on a rather small income.
They had found an elderly aunt of Mr. Ludlow's who, in her day, had been quite a society woman. She had an old-fashioned but well furnished house in Amity Street, and had not given up all her acquaintances. The house was to go to her husband's family when she was done with it, there being no children; and her income ended with her life, so there was nothing to expect from her.
"But I do want a housekeeper and a nurse, sometimes," she said to Mrs. Ludlow. "If you like to fill the place, you will have a good home and good wages. And Lily's fine looks ought to get her a husband."