"Why speak so strongly?" he asked. "That belongs to those who have mistakes to correct."

"I have been thinking of myself all my life," she replied, at once making the personal application. "I formed an ideal which I insisted upon realizing, and when I found it at last it proved beyond my reach."

"To have found it at all is more than most of us can claim."

Her hand paused in its idle motions, and she looked up at him inquiringly.

"But you found yours."

"Don't!" he said softly, a twinge of pain crossing his face.

"I've hurt you again!" she cried impulsively. "Don't you see how selfish I am? That proves it! There is no one I wouldn't rather hurt than you, yet twice I've done it. Please forgive me; I'll not do it again."

"There is nothing to forgive," he insisted as he did before. "I'm too sensitive, that is all. Sometimes Life draws back the curtain and shows us a wonderful picture of what might have been, to test the strength of the philosophy the years should have taught us. The strong say, 'That is not for me,' and pa.s.s it by; the weak stretch out their arms and cry in vain for what they ought to know is not for them. I am among the weak."

"You among the weak!" she cried incredulously. "How little you appreciate yourself! It is of your strength which you must give me now, for I am trying to be true to what you have taught me by your example: by making some one else happy I am going to seek for happiness myself."

It had come! Huntington needed no further confidence to complete the avowal. He must be careful not to endanger the possibility of success coming to the efforts which this brave spirit was prepared to make.

Hamlen was almost normal now. If this must be, Huntington knew that he had played his part in preparing his cla.s.smate for the supreme joy which ought to come to him in sharing the life of such a girl. At least he had made her happiness possible. But the irony of her reference to his teachings!

"Then you are ready for the supreme test?" he asked in a low voice.

"If it comes."

Then it had not come! The reaction took him to an absurd extreme until his sober sense returned and he realized that this made no change. If Hamlen were eliminated, still the years remained. He saw still more clearly that his opposition was not impartial. If Merry were to tell him of her engagement to some younger man of whom he might wholly approve, how could he take their hands in his and p.r.o.nounce the ba.n.a.l benediction, "G.o.d bless you, my children!" His heart would cry out and his spirit rebel as bitterly in one case as in the other. Except for the question of age he must admit that Hamlen was eligible; that what he lacked in certain traits was offset by super-abundance in others. If Huntington were to be consistent he must efface himself; to interfere would be to accept greater responsibility than he had a right to a.s.sume.

"You are prepared to marry a man you do not love because you hope to make him happy, and thus gain happiness yourself?" he repeated the problem slowly, emphasizing every word.

"Yes," she replied deliberately; "and the reason I so want to peer into the future is to make certain that either one of these results is a.s.sured."

"I suppose Hamlen is the man," Huntington said soberly.

"He has spoken of it to you?"

"Yes; he mentioned it soon after he came to visit me."

"Then he does care for me? I had not realized that."

How could the question be answered? Even if Huntington felt himself free to repeat the confidence Hamlen had given him it would mar the perfection of the sacrifice for Merry to know the truth. Her very eagerness for happiness might bring it, and at whatever cost to himself he wanted that to come to her!

"When we spoke of it Mr. Hamlen was not in a condition to know what his feelings really were," Huntington replied guardedly. "He realized his limitations, and questioned, much as you do, the possibility of making any other person happy. Since he has learned more of the world he is greatly changed, but we have not again referred to the subject."

"With us both feeling our limitations, and with both striving to accomplish the same result, don't you think we ought to be successful?"

There was an appealing expression in Merry's face which besought a confirming answer. Huntington could not resist it.

"It must be so," he said with decision. He smiled into her tense face with a confidence his heart denied. "It must be so," he repeated.

"Somewhere there must be a divinity which watches over gentle souls like yours, and brings them their reward."

x.x.xIII

While Huntington's spirits sank lower and lower Cosden's rose to a point which made him oblivious to the cares and worries of the world around him. He had pa.s.sed through the probationary period with Edith Stevens with marked success, and this opportunity of consecutive days with her amid such congenial surroundings filled him with a delight which he had never found in his business successes. Edith was right, Huntington was right, Cosden admitted, in their contention that there was something finer and more satisfying than business ideals; but he gave Edith the credit for having proved it to him.

He went to extremes in this swing of the pendulum as in all others, but the net result was a smoothing down of many of the rough corners, and a tempering of the aggressive individualism which had often offended.

Cosden sized himself up correctly when he remarked to Edith, "I never expect to be the finished product Monty is, but I'm going to quit advertising the fact."

Edith could but admire the persistency with which he worked upon his disagreeable problem. Her curiosity to see "how deep it went" developed during the course of several other experiences together, into a complete willingness to forget past delinquencies, and a real desire to encourage him in the pursuit of his new course. It interested her to see that the same forcefulness which had made itself disagreeable before was the very agent which had accomplished the change she admired; that it was this same dogged determination which maintained the present poise and gave him the new dignity.

Marian was delighted by the way her guests grouped themselves, and everything seemed to play wonderfully into her hands. Edith appropriated Cosden and appointed herself his hostess; brother Ricky enjoyed himself hugely motoring around the country in one of the Thatcher automobiles, and did not ask to be considered except at meals; Philip kept his boy friends engaged in an absorbing series of outdoor activities which prevented Billy from interfering with her plans for Merry; Mr. Thatcher was so engrossed with business matters that he became almost a negligible quant.i.ty, which his guests understood and overlooked; Huntington so far, Marian rejoiced to admit, had carried himself admirably, dividing his time between Merry, Hamlen and herself in such a way as to be really helpful instead of a menace to her plans. Never had she entertained a group of friends so accommodating, and she was more deeply appreciative at this time than she cared to state.

Edith and Cosden strolled down a leaf-covered walk, flanked by antique statuettes, to an attractive pavilion at the end of the vista. Here they seated themselves after a leisurely walk about the estate. Edith knew she was taking chances, but as she felt quite capable of defending her position she saw no reason why she should not enjoy Cosden's continued devotion.

"I've ordered tea served here," she announced. "We seem to be a little early."

"I'm in no hurry," Cosden replied cheerfully; "are you?"

"I have forgotten how to hurry, after these delicious weeks here," Edith answered, leaning back in her rustic chair. "I think it agrees with me to be deliberate, as Marian is. I am going to cultivate it."

"You are deliberate with me, all right," he declared. "I don't quite understand myself nowadays. Usually when I find that I am making little progress along one line I shift onto another, but now I seem perfectly contented to sit back and watch you act your part. That shows that there's something deeper in all this, doesn't it?"

"You might shift back to Merry," she replied calmly.

"No," he said with decision; "I've learned the rules now, and you don't catch me revoking.--Tell me, if you don't like me, why do you let me hang around like this, and if you do like me, what's the use of putting me off so long?"

"There are loads of people I don't even take the trouble to like or dislike, whom I 'put off,' as you call it."

"Do you really dislike me?"

"No," Edith drawled slowly, as if deliberating; "I can't say that. In fact I think I rather like you--in spots."

Cosden leaned forward eagerly. "Isn't it stronger than that?" he demanded.

"I can't say it is," she replied, her voice manifesting the same interest which she might show if he had asked any other commonplace question; "but don't get down on your knees now, for here comes the tea and I loathe demonstration before servants."

"All right," Cosden said with resignation but without losing his cheerfulness; "you don't discourage me a bit. I guess counsel is just collecting a little extra fee for that break in Bermuda. I'll wait."

"I know how many lumps you take in your tea, and I know that you prefer cream, but shall I pa.s.s you the raspberry jam?"

"No, thank you," he replied promptly. "My mother always used to dose me up with calomel disguised in raspberry jam, and I can't eat it now without tasting the medicine."

"Very well," Edith laughed, "try some honey. But please tell me what has put your friend Monty in the dumps. At Bermuda he was stimulating, but down here he's as cheerful as a crutch."