“Helen with another beau!” cried free Tod. “How has it all come about?”
“The mother and Helen have been staying at Malvern, you know,” said Whitney. “Temple turned up at the same hotel, the Foley Arms, and they struck up an intimacy. I went over for the last week, and was surprised to see how thick he was with them. The mother, who is more unsuspicious than a goose, told Temple, in her hospitable way, when they were saying good-bye, that she should be glad to see him if ever he found himself in these benighted parts: and I’ll be shot if at the end of five days he was not here! If Helen’s not the magnet, I don’t know what else it can be.”
“He appears to like her; but it may be only a temporary fancy that will pass away; it ought not to be talked about,” reiterated Anna. “It may come to nothing.”
“It may, or may not,” persisted Bill.
“Will she consent to have him?” I asked.
“She’d be simple if she didn’t,” said Bill. “Temple would be a jolly fine match for any girl. Good in all ways. His property is large, and he himself is as sober and steady as any parson. Always has been.”
I was not thinking of Temple’s eligibility—that was undeniable; but of Helen’s inclinations. Some time before she had gone in for a love affair, which would not do at any price, caused some stir at the Hall, and came to signal grief: though I have not time to tell of it here. Whitney caught the drift of my thoughts.
“That’s over and done with, Johnny. She’d never let its recollection spoil other prospects. You may trust Helen Whitney for that. She is as shallow-hearted as——”
“For shame, William!” remonstrated Anna.
“It’s true,” said he. “I didn’t say you were. Helen would have twenty sweethearts to your one, and think nothing of it.”