"I used to imagine Mr. Kendall cared more for his adopted daughter than for his son, from what I saw of them, and I was at the house a good deal with Phil. I am sure they were very affectionate; and it was only natural that the melancholy old man—that is the way he always struck me—should have loved the daughter of the woman who had deserted him and then turned toward him in her hour of supreme need. It showed that her trust and belief in him and his goodness had never really left her. And, besides, Grace was always so airy and light-hearted,—nothing could put her out of humor,—so kind and gentle, and as lovely as a flower. She is a splendid-looking woman yet, but one can have no idea of what she was in those days, from the sad-eyed Mrs. Herbert who smiles so rarely on any one but her little girl. Nannie is going to make much such a young lady as her mother was, but I don't believe she will ever be quite so beautiful.
"Well, I was not long in discovering that Phil was in love with his father's adopted daughter. I was never quite sure whether he knew it himself at the time or not, but I could see easily enough that she didn't dream of such a thing, nor the old captain either. They were so much like brother and sister it used to make me feel wofully sorry for Phil to see her throw her arms around his neck and kiss him for some little kindness or other that he was always doing her: the difference of mood in which the caress would be given from that in which Phil would receive it was somehow always painful to me. Phil would never offer to kiss her on his own account; and it is still a mystery to me why she never discovered how he felt toward her until he became jealous. The tenderness and gentle considerateness of his bearing were always so marked that to a less innocent and pure nature, I fancy, it would have been noticeable at once.
"When we were Juniors, Phil took her to a party one night, just after Easter. The captain was a scrupulous Churchman, and Grace was always by him in the pew. She had not been confirmed, however, and never said a word to Phil and me about our persistency in staying away from church, though the captain used to lecture Phil quite soberly about it. This party was given at the house of one of the vestrymen, and they had refreshments, and, after the rector had gone home, dancing. They called it a sociable, and took up a collection for the ladies' aid society just after the cake and coffee and whipped cream had been served. There was where Grace first met George Herbert. He was a handsome young fellow, well educated, a graduate of some Eastern college, clever and talented, and his family in Rochester, New York, were considered very good people. He had come to Lincoln to take a place on the 'Gazette,' and every one thought him a young man of good parts and fair prospects.
"He made up to Grace from the start. They were laughing and talking together all the evening on a little sofa, just large enough for two, that stood in the bow-window. There was a little crowd of young people around the two most of the time, and she was saying bright things to them all, but never, I noticed, at the expense of young Herbert, who made most of his remarks so low that no one but Grace could hear them. She always smiled and often broke out into her musical laugh at what he said; and when Phil, who had been trapped into a game of whist with some old fogies, finally came back into the parlor and made his way to where Grace was having such a happy time, she even launched a shaft or two of her wit at him.
"I saw that the poor fellow was hurt: he turned away without answering, though, and, coming over to where I was, sat down and began looking at an album, trying hard all the time to hide his feelings. But in a moment Grace was hanging over his shoulder, oblivious of her surroundings, and lovingly begging his pardon if she had hurt him. I have sometimes thought that Phil then fully realized for the first time how he cared for her. The way in which her affection disregarded the presence of the crowd smote him, I imagine, with something like despair. I saw him turn pale and catch his breath, and I knew his laugh too well to be deceived, as Grace was, when he made light of her self-accusations and declared that than taking offence at her words nothing had been further from his thoughts. This was in a sense true, of course, for ordinarily he would have answered as light-heartedly almost as Grace herself; and it was only the feeling of jealousy, unconscious perhaps, at any rate irresistible, that gave her words undue—no, not that exactly, but unusual influence over his feelings.
"For a while Phil acted as considerately as ever, and made himself thoroughly agreeable to several young ladies, whereat Grace was highly pleased and soon took up again her mood of gayety. But when Phil brought her a plate and napkin and some things to eat, and found her and Herbert already served and with mock gravity breaking a piece of cake together on the stairs,—'they were only doing it,' Phil declared to me afterward, 'that they might touch each other's hands,'—he lost his head. He must have spoken very bitterly, else he would never have aroused Grace's anger. I don't know what he said, except that he complained about having come to such a thing as a church sociable, which he despised, and, inasmuch as he had done it for the sake of her enjoyment and pleasure, she might at least have shown him the same politeness she would have accorded to any of the insufferable prigs whom she seemed delighted to honor.
"Herbert started to reply, but Grace silenced him by a look, and said, 'We have been as brother and sister since childhood.' It was probably well for Herbert's handsome face that he did not enter into a discussion with Phil. They were both hot-tempered, and Phil had no scruples against asking him out of doors, and would have been as cool in his manner and as terrible in his strength as an iceberg.
"Grace led Phil away, and tried to tell him how she had not supposed he would care; that she had imagined he would prefer to serve the young lady with whom he had been talking; how she had never known him to put such store by trivialities before; how 'at least we,' Phil told me, bitterly quoting her words, 'at least we ought to be sure of each other's hearts,' and did everything to pacify him. But he would listen to nothing, and, coming to me, asked me to walk home with Grace, as he was going away immediately. I imagined the trouble, and got him to admit that he and Grace had said unkind words to each other. But he would say nothing more about the matter till I found him in my room after it was all over, when he raved about Grace until near morning, and cursed the fate that had turned the bread of her kind affection for him into a stone. 'How can I ever hope to win her love when she thinks that way of me?' he would ask sorrowfully, after telling of some pure and loving freedom she had taken. I was full of pity for the miserable fellow, but I felt as if I ought to do all I could to discourage him. I was sure he was right; he never could hope to, and I thought the sooner he learned this, and to submit to it, the better it would be for him.
"I persuaded him not to leave the party in the height of his resentment, though, and he was so quiet before the dancing that I began to hope he would beg Grace's pardon and take her home repentantly and in peace. But he insisted on my going and offering to dance with her the first set in his place. She had already promised, she said, to dance it with Mr. Herbert, and it was in vain that I told her she must look upon me as acting for Phil, and advised her for his sake to excuse herself to Herbert and dance with either Phil or myself. 'If Phil should come and ask me himself on his knees I would not do it,' she declared, with superb grandeur, 'He has acted wrong, and imputed to me the worst motives for trivial things which I did unthinkingly even, and, heaven knows, without deliberate calculation.'
"I saw it was no use to talk with her, and that in her present mood even entreaty, to which she was usually so yielding, would be of no avail. I felt very helpless and miserable about it, but I could do nothing. I saw that Phil had made a grave mistake by accusing her of partiality for Herbert, and that her acquaintance with him might possibly be forced into a closer relation by Phil's jealousy. I kept away from him for a while, and almost made Miss Scrawney think I had fallen in love with her, in order to keep Phil from getting a word with me. At last, however, just as the music began, he pulled my sleeve and asked in a whisper if I wasn't going to take Grace out and dance with her.