“I would forgive a bitter enemy to-night, if I had one,” said the excited youth.
“That’s right; that’s right: a man has so few chances to feel that way that he ought to improve them all. You’ll even be patient, should it be necessary?”
“As patient as Job,” promised Phil.
“Thank you! God bless you!” said the merchant, wringing Phil’s hand and turning away. Phil again started. The merchant walked toward the club, stopped after taking a few steps, looked in the direction Phil had taken, drew his hat down over his eyes, hurried to his house, entered the basement door, sneaked up the back stairway as if he were a thief, and quietly entered his own room, which, to his great relief, was empty.
Meanwhile, Phil had reached the house and been admitted. He had not to ask for Lucia, for he heard through the open door of the parlor some piano-chords which he knew were touched only by her fingers. Lucia did not hear him enter, and as he stopped to look at her she seemed to be in a revery that was not cheerful. He had never seen her looking so-so plain, he would have said, had she been any one else. There was no color in her face, and her cheeks seemed thin and drawn. An involuntary motion startled her, and she turned, exclaiming,—
“How you frightened me!”
“I wish you might punish me in some way for it,” said Phil, approaching her.
“It was so late that I did not imagine any one would call,” the girl explained.
“I was quite busy in the earlier part of the evening,” said Phil,” and I needed to see your father.”
“Business is horrid,” said Lucia. “I should think men would attend to it by daylight. Well, I believe papa went to the club.”