“That was rather fine,” Miss Townsend agreed.
“Fine? It just showed what sort of a man he was!” cried Mrs. Paul. “He worked his way to some extent; that is, he was Professor Wilson’s secretary, and he did a lot of tutoring. Professor Wilson left him a good deal of money, but he gave away nearly half of it at once, John says. Quite remarkable for a young man. Well, that’s all; you see what he is to-day—a gentleman and a scholar: John says there is no man in Mercer who has the influence that he has.”
Miss Townsend, in spite of her careful indifference, was interested. And later, when Rev. William West met her, he, too, was “interested;” and all fell out as the most experienced romancer could desire.
Amy had a little money, much charm, a certain distinction that answered for beauty, and a very true nature; there was, perhaps, a certain hard integrity about her, but her impulses were gracious. Also, as the old ladies said, she was a “worker.” She found life too interesting not to meddle with it.
So it had come to pass that these two, who, as Mrs. Paul said, “were made for each other,” were going to be married.
“Just think, in two weeks!” he said, as they sat there under the oak, the blossoming grass knee-deep about them, and the air sweet with clover. “Amy, it does not seem as if I had been alive until now.”
“I wonder, does it go on getting—nicer?” she asked him, a little shyly; “everything seems to be better, and more worth while.”
“I understand,” he said.
And they were silent for awhile, because understanding is enough, when people are in love. Then the girl’s gayety began to sparkle out.