“But I really cannot,” Philip responded, with a slight frown; “they have chosen an unfortunate day for their arrival, and I am sure they will excuse it if I am not there to greet them. You can explain, and I will certainly be in season for dinner.”
Mrs. Temple appeared to be satisfied with this assurance, and the carriage drove away, while Philip slowly wended his way back into the college grounds, and with a very thoughtful air. He had never for a moment wavered in his determination to marry Mollie Heatherford and her “magnificent fortune”; but, through his selfish love of pleasure and his constant pursuit of amusement, he now found himself disagreeably hampered in some ways, which might, if they should become known, interfere with his interests and plans in connection with Miss Heatherford. He had kept up a correspondence with her during her absence abroad, although Mollie’s letters had been tantalizingly irregular, and far from being of as tender a nature as he desired; nevertheless, he had, from time to time, referred to their old-time betrothal with an assurance which indicated that he, at least, regarded it as binding and definite.
At the same time he had not scrupled to keep up a desperate flirtation with several other pretty girls, to say nothing about his entanglement with Gertrude Athol, to whom he was still practically pledged. Indeed, Miss Athol was at that moment awaiting him to attend her to a spread that was to be given by one of his classmates in Beck Hall.
She had come on from Buffalo to spend a week with some friends in Cambridge, and attend the commencement exercises in which she was, of course, more than usually interested this year, because of Phil’s participation in them.
Now that the time was approaching when he knew that Gertrude would expect him to redeem his pledge to her, ask her hand of her father, and declare his intentions to the world, Phil began to experience not a little uneasiness regarding his precarious situation and how he was going to escape from it. Therefore, he was in no enviable frame of mind as he re-entered the college grounds, after his mother’s departure, to seek Gertrude by appointment. He found her with a group of young people, all of whom were invited to the “spread,” and she bestowed a bright smile of welcome upon him as he came to her side.
She was even lovelier than when we saw her at the mountains three years previous. She seemed taller, her form had developed to more perfect proportions, and her expressive face bespoke growth of character, earnestness, and purity of purpose.
She was clad all in white, even to her hat, which was trimmed with graceful, nodding ostrich-plumes. It was an exceedingly dainty costume, stylish as well, and, with her queenly bearing, her sweet, pure face, her clear brown eyes, and wealth of golden hair, she did not fail to attract attention wherever she went, and Philip was really proud of her, and also fond of her, in a way.
The party turned their steps in the direction of Beck Hall as soon as he joined it, while Gertrude looked as if she needed nothing more to complete her happiness.
“Everything has passed off lovely,” she whispered, as they followed their friends, then added shyly, “but, of course, you know in whom my chief interest centered.”