"I didn't notice," he answered ruefully. "I never pay any attention to the way a man looks, in church or out of it."
"Well, I do—and even Judy Hatch does. She asked me the other day whom I thought the handsomest man in the neighbourhood, and I'm sure she expected me to say Mr. Mullen."
She dimpled, and his arm went out impulsively toward her.
"But you didn't, Molly?" he returned.
"Why, of course not—did you imagine that I should? I said I thought Mr.
Jonathan Gay was the best looking."
His arm fell to his side, and for a minute or two he walked on in silence.
"I wish I didn't love you, Molly," he burst out at last. "I sometimes almost believe that you're one of the temptresses Mr. Mullen preached against this morning. I've tried again and again to tear you out of my heart, but it is useless."
"Yes, it's useless, Abel," she answered, melting to dimples.
"I tell myself," he went on passionately, "that you're not worth it—that you're perfectly heartless—that you're only a flirt—that other men have held your hands, kissed your lips even—-"
"And after telling yourself those dreadful truths, what happens?" she inquired with interest.