Ann smiled. The unwisdom of husbands kept him from the knowledge that these exhortations were made in each other’s arms. This the mother not only thought likely to be most effective, but much more lovely than any other way.
She threatened a caress.
“Yes—yes,” said John, suppressing a suspicious movement of the arms toward her. “But it is of Mary Ann. She is of an age. And she is as pretty as thee—in that day thee speaks of. Therefore watch that she enter not into any temptation.”
“Such as thee was to me?” laughed his wife. “Oh, John!”
And this time John did not resist her.
“I meant our child,” said he softly, “not thee.”
Now all of this might have been said concerning one Doctor John Rem, of whom they had never heard. And John Estover might have added that, when two people predisposed to what he had called guile met, one as tempter, one willing to be tempted, the danger was excessive.
Nay, had he known this Doctor Rem, he would have taken every precaution that he and his daughter Mary Ann should not meet. For Rem had left behind at college an example for the emulation of sophomore hoodlums.
And now, just returned from college, filled with really valuable learning concerning disease, but having no practice at all and much idleness, it was exceedingly dull and he exceedingly ready for amorous experiment. And you may be sure that if it should happen to come in the shape of a pretty Quaker, it would be only a little more piquant.
All these sayings are necessary—though, I admit, somewhat dull—that you may understand the doings between this very doctor and this very Quaker maid. For you cannot suppose that I have them both in the same story for any other purpose than such troublous joys as make up that curious thing called love.