“Will you promise me not to continue your advances to the Dominie, Mary?”
“I will not, if I can help it, Jacob. I may forget for the moment, but I’ll do all I can. It’s not very easy to look grave when one is merry, or sour when one is pleased.”
“But what can induce you, Mary, to practise upon an old man like him? If it were young Tom, I could understand it. There might be some credit, and your pride might be flattered by the victory; but an old man—”
“Still, Jacob, old or young, it’s much the same. I would like to have them all at my feet, and that’s the truth. I can’t help it. And I thought it a great victory to bring there a wise old man, who was so full of Latin and learning, and who ought to know better. Tell me Jacob, if old men a how themselves to be caught, as well as young, where is the crime of catching them? Isn’t there as much vanity in an old man, in his supposing that I really could love him, as there is in me, who am but a young, foolish girl, in trying to make him fond of me?”
“That may be; but still recollect that he is in earnest, and you are only joking, which makes a great difference; and recollect further, that in trying at all, we very often lose all.”
“That I would take my chance of, Jacob,” replied Mary, proudly throwing her curly ringlets back with her hand from her white forehead; “but what I now want is to make friends with you. Come, Jacob, you have my promise to do my best.”
“Yes, Mary, and I believe you, so there’s my hand.”
“You don’t know how miserable I have been, Jacob, since we quarrelled,” said Mary, wiping the tears away, which again commenced flowing; “and yet I don’t know why, for I’m sure I have almost hated you this last week—that I have; but the fact is, I like quarrelling very well for the pleasure of making it up again; but not for the quarrel to last so long as this has done.”
“It has annoyed me too, Mary, for I like you very much in general.”
“Well, then, now it’s all over; but Jacob, are you sure you are friends with me?”