“Yes, any one can see that she is very smart and talented,” said Mrs. Temple, reflectively; then added: “Did you observe her talking with Professor Hubbard at dinner last evening?”
“Indeed, I did, and wondered not a little,” returned Mr. Temple, laughing, “for the professor does not often condescend to converse with young people—he shuns them, especially girls.”
“Well, he certainly exerted himself to be agreeable to Mollie and draw her out. He found his match, too, or I am much mistaken,” said Mrs. Temple, in a tone of amusement. “Oh, dear!” she continued, with a sigh, “I am terribly disappointed, for I have always been fond of the girl, and she is just the one I would have chosen for Phil; but it will never do for him to marry a poor girl. I must tell him of the change in the Heatherfords’ circumstances, and caution him to govern himself accordingly.”
This she did later in the day, and was gratified and intensely relieved to see how coolly he accepted the situation, for, knowing that he had been really fond of Mollie in the old days, and also that they had corresponded during the last four years, she feared that he might have committed himself, and might now find it difficult to extricate himself from an entanglement, if, indeed, he did not really love the girl too well to be willing to give her up. But Philip listened without comment through the story, and, upon its conclusion, simply remarked, with a wise nod:
“I understand the situation, mother, and you may safely trust me. Mollie is lovely, as everybody must admit, but, with my expensive tastes, I am fully conscious that it would never do for me to marry a poor girl.”
He spoke with the utmost assurance; nevertheless, before a week had passed, he found himself becoming more and more enthralled by Mollie Heatherford’s witching loveliness, both of person and mind.
Of course, as she was a guest of the family, it became his duty to act as her escort and take her about to see the various improvements that had been made in the city during her absence, although he was obliged to intersperse these duties with frequent visits to Gertrude Athol, who was still with her friends in Cambridge, and thus he was kept very busy during these days dancing attendance upon two divinities.
But he was not so eager now as he had thought he might be to resume his “quarrel” with Gertrude; for, although Mr. Athol was by no means as wealthy a man as Mr. Heatherford was once supposed to be, he possessed a tempting share of this world’s goods, and Philip reasoned that, if he could not find a more alluring bait, he might eventually think best to keep his pledge to his fair daughter.
He fondly imagined that he could control his affections and be governed by his judgment and by policy—in fact, play “fast and loose” with both girls, and enjoy the present to the utmost without experiencing any disastrous effects when he came to make a final decision. But he very soon grew to realize that Cupid is a god who cannot be tampered with with impunity, and that he was fast learning to love Mollie Heatherford with a strength and fervency which would either demand utter self-renunciation on his part, or ruin his life for all time.
On her part, Mollie frankly accepted his attentions, and appeared to enjoy his society, and yet Philip was vaguely conscious at times that she was adroitly sounding him and studying his character. She, like Gertrude, was an independent thinker, and never hesitated to express her opinions, and she frequently led him into spirited discussions upon topics where he often found himself beyond his depth, and was thus made conscious that in what pertained to character, honesty, and morality he fell far short of the ideals that she cherished.