But she also added to herself, “Wait till he meets you!” For Mrs. Paul was one of those courageous women who rush in where angels fear to tread; she was a match-maker.
“Is he married?” the girl asked, naturally enough; but blushed furiously the next instant, which made her angry.
“No; but it is not for lack of opportunity,” said Mrs. Paul dryly. “I declare, Amy, women are dreadful fools, sometimes! I should think a clergyman wouldn’t marry, out of sheer disgust for their silliness.”
“Oh, he’s run after, is he?” Miss Townsend said coldly.
“Well, I must admit he’s very attractive,” Mrs. Paul began, remembering her scheme, and retreating a little,—for nothing will put a girl against a man sooner than to know he is “run after.”
Then she told his story: the boy had been a waif. (“His mother was respectable, I think,” said Mrs. Paul, “but nobody knows anything about the father.”) He had had that dreariest sort of childhood which knows no other home than an institution. Then, somehow, “quite like a story-book,” Mrs. Paul said, a gentleman took an interest in him, and began to help him in one way or another.
“It was that zoölogical man, Professor Wilson; you know who I mean?” Mrs. Paul explained. “He looked after him. At first he put him in a tinshop, if you please, as errand-boy,—fancy! this man with the ‘grand manner.’”
“Oh, I supposed he was a gentleman,” Amy Townsend said.
“Amy, you are a snob,” her cousin answered hotly. “He is.”
Mrs. Paul was so annoyed that she ended the story of Mr. West’s career very briefly. “Professor Wilson offered either to start him in business or put him through college; he chose to go to college.”