mollie grew first red, then white, at this unexpected renewal of philip's suit. at the same time, she was conscious that it did not ring quite true, in spite of his passionate avowal of love and eagerness of manner; there was an indefinable undercurrent of reservation—a lack of sincerity in it that impressed her unpleasantly.
for one thing, she felt that if he had been a true lover, he never would have allowed their correspondence to cease, simply because a single letter had gone astray; he would never have been content to let a year and a half pass without making an attempt to see her and learn how she was living and how her father was prospering, after having been robbed of his last dollar by the treachery of his pretended friend.
she began to recover from her confusion almost immediately, however, and lifting her eyes, earnestly searched her companion's face. somehow, it had never appeared so unattractive to her before; it was weak and showed in the lowering brow, in the habitual expression of discontent, in the sensuous mouth and irresolute chin, a lack of that true nobility and strength of character which she knew she must find in the man whom she married, and even while she looked his eyes wavered and fell before her, while he shifted uneasily upon his chair.
"mollie, why do you not answer me?" he demanded, to cover his embarrassment, and bending toward her tried to capture one of the small, perfect hands which lay on her lap. "it cannot be possible that you have forgotten the past or lost all the old love for me. ah! come to me, dearest, let me take care of you, and you never need toil another day; you shall have every luxury which money can buy."
"phil," mollie began gently, for she did not wish to wound him, even though not one chord of her heart thrilled responsive to his ardent appeal, while at the same time she quietly, but resolutely, released her hand from his grasp, "i certainly have not forgotten the old days nor the many good times which we enjoyed during our childhood. but when you speak of 'the old love,' that is another thing, and i know now that i never loved you; that is, in the way which you speak of now. when you asked me before, i told you i was not prepared to say just what my feelings toward you were, as you will remember. i felt very friendly, as i said then, 'i liked you right well,' and, as you seemed to be so fond of me and so anxious that our boy-and-girl play should become a reality, i thought i would wait a little, and, perchance, as i came to like you better, the 'like' might grow into love. i could have told you this some time ago if you had renewed the subject, but you never did; your letters ceased coming and i supposed you had thought better of the matter and changed your mind. no, phil, i do not love you as a woman should love the man she expects to marry; so let us drop the subject here and now and agree to be simply good friends for the future."
but her refusal aroused all philip's antagonism. he was one who could never bear to be balked in anything, and her statement that she knew 'now' that she did not love him stirred him to fiercest jealousy. what had led her to such a conclusion? he asked himself. perhaps she had met some one else who had awakened the affection which he so coveted, and this possible solution of the problem made him furious.
for the moment he forgot her poverty; forgot that he had vowed he would never marry any girl who did not possess an ample fortune. he only remembered that he loved her—had always loved her, and rich or poor he was determined to carry his point, if by any possible means he could achieve it, even though he should rudely trample upon her heart after he had won it.
"mollie!" he cried appealingly, "you do not mean it—you cannot be so cruel as to blight all my hopes, after so many years of devotion to you. you know that i have loved you ever since we were children; you know that i have always expected that you would give yourself to me, and do you think that i can easily surrender you now?"
mollie wondered what made her shrink involuntarily every time he mentioned his love for her. there was something that grated harshly upon her in his every tone, and she experienced a singular distrust of him.
"i am truly sorry, phil, if you have really been cherishing this hope for so long," she returned after a moment of thoughtful silence, "for, to be perfectly frank with you, i have believed everything to be at an end between us ever since i left boston. i am very quick to feel any change in my friends, and i was sure, when the financial crash came to my father, that a union between you and me would be regarded as a great misfortune for you. i inferred this both from your own manner and your mother's when you made your farewell call upon me at the adams house. i also observed it in the tone of your letters afterward, and when they finally ceased altogether, as i have already said, i regarded the matter as finally settled, as far as you were concerned, and, as i had arrived at a knowledge of my own attitude toward you, i was perfectly content. you perceive that i am very plain with you, and now let me add, phil, that you will yet make the discovery that some other woman will make you happier than i ever could have done."
"i shall not!" philip retorted vehemently. "i love you, and you alone. mollie, you shall not send me away like this—i cannot bear it. give me at least a little more time in which to try to make you love me; do not throw me over utterly, for you will ruin my life if you do."
and he began to believe what he was saying. the more he realized that she was dropping out of his life altogether, the more he coveted her love. in the rashness of the moment, in the heat of his anger at being opposed in his purpose, he might even have gone to the length of marrying her on the spot, if the conditions had been propitious.
"no, i can give you no more 'time,' phil, for the matter is irrevocably settled, as far as i am concerned," mollie responded kindly, but firmly, "and i should only be doing you a great wrong if i should encourage you to believe otherwise. now, please let us dismiss the subject, once for all, and agree to be only the best of friends in the future."
"mollie, i won't!" philip exclaimed with mingled anger and wounded pride. "there must be some reason for this unaccountable change in you—more than appears on the surface. perhaps you have met some one else whom you have learned to love—tell me, is it so?"
two scarlet spots leaped into mollie's cheeks at this excited and imperative demand. they were called there by a shock of mingled indignation and conscious guilt. she felt that, even though phil had been a lifelong friend, he had no right to try to extort the secrets of her heart in any such high-handed manner.
yet, at the same instant, when he had accused her of loving another, clifford faxon's face, with its expression of high resolve and noble purposes, its clear, honest eyes, its frank and genial smile, arose before her, causing a sudden, conscious heart-thrill, which also brought with it a sense of dismay.
could it be possible, came the simultaneous thought, that she had bestowed her affections upon a man whom she did not know—with whom she had never exchanged half a dozen sentences—who had flashed like a meteor, once or twice, across her path and was gone, perhaps never to appear again?
ah! but it was true, nevertheless. soul meets soul in the flash of an eye, through the tones of the voice, and the touch of a hand, and, like a revelation, there came to her the consciousness of the fact that when she had stood before clifford faxon, more than six years previous, she had recognized in him—even though he had spoken no word in response to her impulsive outburst of gratitude—a nature the counterpart and, therefore, the companion of her own, and with this unveiling of the holy of holies within her soul came the realization that no other would satisfy the cravings of her heart.
at the same time, she was under no obligation to make philip wentworth her father confessor, and she resented his imperative demand that she do so. she drew herself up with quiet dignity as she coldly replied:
"excuse me, phil, but i think you are overstepping the bounds of both courtesy and friendship in asking me such questions."
philip sprang to his feet, his face a sheet of flame.
"you do not deny it," he cried angrily.
"i neither admit nor deny," said mollie, as she also arose and stood before him with a regal air. "i simply say that you have—as indeed no one else has—the right to question me in the way you have done. whatever concerns you personally, you, of course, have a right to know about. i have answered you frankly and as kindly as i knew how, and that must settle it. now"—her manner suddenly changing to her old-time graciousness, and holding out her hand, with a charming smile—"shall we drop it and still be the best of friends?"
he regarded her in silence for a moment. she was inexpressibly lovely, and would have disarmed a savage; but his pride was wounded, and his heart was filled with rage at the thought of being balked in his determination to subjugate her to his will.
"no!" he said shortly, "there is no meaning for me in the word 'friend' where you are concerned."
he turned abruptly from her as he ceased and walked from the room and the house, taking no pains to close the door after him.
mollie stood where he had left her for a full minute, a grave expression on her fair face. then she drew a long, deep breath, and her lips curled with contempt:
"he could not stand the test—he is not worthy to be my friend, even," she murmured; "he is selfish to the core, for, since he cannot have just what he wants, he repudiates all, turns and cruelly wounds the one he has pretended to love. it is himself he loves—not me; and i am glad that everything is finally settled between us. still, i am sadly disappointed in my old-time friend."
she sighed regretfully as she thought of the failure he was making of life, for he had had every advantage, and had he appreciated and improved his opportunities a brilliant career might have been his, while now he was only an idle seeker after pleasure.
then, in striking contrast to this pampered young man of fortune, there arose before her the sunburned, bareheaded, coarsely clad lad to whom she owed her life, and who, by his own efforts, had overcome every obstacle and distanced philip wentworth at college.
clifford faxon might never rise socially to the position that was accorded philip in the fashionable world—he might never acquire great wealth, but she felt that he had already attained that which was far more grand and desirable than fame or fortune—a noble manhood and the pursuit of some worthy object in life. in the midst of these reflections mollie blushed rosy red.
"why do i allow my thoughts to dwell upon him?" she exclaimed, with a shrug of her shoulders and a pretty assumption of impatience; "he is the same as a stranger to me, and i may never see him again. how foolish i am!"
nevertheless, clifford faxon's strong, handsome face haunted her continually, and even in her dreams that night she saw a shapely hand outstretched to her; in its palm there lay a heart pierced with an arrow, its feather the shade of her own bright hair, and on the hand there gleamed a well-remembered cameo ring.
the following morning brought another trial to mollie, and one which she had never dreamed of being subjected to. when she entered monsieur lamonti's office at the usual hour, she found him already there, but looking unusually grave and preoccupied. she bade him a cheerful "bon jour," to which he courteously but, to her sensitive ear, rather coldly responded.
"yes," he briefly replied, "lucille is well."
mollie began to wonder if anything had gone wrong in connection with his business; or if, by any possibility she had made a mistake that required a reproof, which he might be very loath to administer; or perhaps he might not be feeling well, and did not realize how constrained his manner was.
however, she slipped quietly into the chair before her desk and began her work, but with a strange feeling of sadness and embarrassment oppressing her. she wrote steadily for more than an hour, during which time not a word was spoken by either occupant of the room.
then, all at once, monsieur lamonti laid down his pen and, wheeling around in his chair, faced her.
"will mademoiselle be kind enough to give me her attention for a few moments?" he gravely questioned. "i have something of importance to communicate to her."
mollie grew suddenly pale with apprehension. oh! could it be possible that monsieur lamonti was contemplating some change that would deprive her of her position? maybe he was on the point of returning to france, or had been assigned to some other station in the united states to continue his public duties. what could she do—where turn for employment in such an emergency?
"certainly, monsieur," she managed to falter, as she mechanically placed a paper-weight upon the sheet before her; then tried to smile bravely as she turned her colorless face to him to await her sentence, whatever it might be.
the man started violently as he bent his searching glance upon her.
"ah mademoiselle, you are surely ill!" he exclaimed in a voice of alarm. "pardon me that i have not before observed the fact. why—why have you come to work if you are not well?"
something in his look and tone brought the truant color back to her face in a crimson flood.
"thank you, monsieur, but i am perfectly well."
then, with a smile and her habitual frankness, she explained:
"i am only in suspense since, from monsieur's manner, i have inferred that something is wrong; that perhaps you may have disagreeable tidings for me."
it was now the gentleman's turn to change color and to look disturbed. then he broke forth with characteristic impetuosity:
"pardon—a thousand pardons, mademoiselle, if i have caused you one moment of anxiety or suffering! yes, i have been thoughtless—i have been distrait, but not because i have any ill news to impart; but because i had decided to ask mademoiselle an important question this morning. mademoiselle heatherford, will you do me the honor—the supreme happiness—to become my wife?"
