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The closely folded paper refused to burn, it went out again and again; while each time Philip Malbone examined it ere relighting, with a sort of vague curiosity, to see how much passion had already vanished out of existence, and how much yet survived.
Why do they have such people here? Society is getting so common, there is no bearing it. That Emily who is with her is too good for that slow set. She's the school-girl we heard of at Nice, or somewhere; she wanted to elope with somebody, and Phil Malbone stopped her, worse luck. She will be for eloping with us, before long."
"But, aunt," persisted Harry, "if you only knew what the mass of young men are " "Don't I?" interrupted the impetuous lady. "What is there that is not known to any woman who has common sense, and eyes enough to look out of a window?" "If you only knew," Harry went on, "how superior Phil Malbone is, in his whole tone, to any fellow of my acquaintance." "Lord help the rest!" she answered.
The gentlemen were smoking, and some of the ladies were trying to look at ease with cigarettes. Malbone knew the whole company, and greeted them with his accustomed ease. He would not have been embarrassed if they had been the Forty Thieves. Some of them, indeed, were not so far removed from that fabled band, only it was their fortunes, instead of themselves, that lay in the jars of oil.
Malbone had fortunately great control over Emilia when near her, and could thus keep the sight of this stormy passion from the pure and unconscious Hope. But a new distress opened before him, from the time when he again touched Hope's hand. The close intercourse of the voyage had given him for the time almost a surfeit of the hot-house atmosphere of Emilia's love.
But this first tumult had passed away; and now there remained only the various nephews and nieces of the house, including a due proportion of small children. Two final guests were to arrive that day, bringing the latest breath of Europe on their wings, Philip Malbone, Hope's betrothed; and little Emilia, Hope's half-sister.
The next house I take, I shall say to the owner, 'Have you a good well of water on the premises? Are you troubled with rats or lovers? That will settle it." It was true, what Aunt Jane said about Malbone. He had changed his habits a good deal.
Instead of suffering from a bad conscience, I suffer from a good one." "It was no merit of yours, aunt," put in Harry. "Who was ever more agreeable and lovable than Malbone last night?" "Lovable!" burst out Aunt Jane, who never could be managed or manipulated by anybody but Kate, and who often rebelled against Harry's blunt assertions. "Of course he is lovable, and that is why I dislike him.
Why are you not satisfied?" "Because you are not," said Harry. "You are dissatisfied with men, and so you care chiefly to amuse yourself with women and children." "I dare say," said Malbone, carelessly. "They are usually less ungraceful and talk better grammar." "But American life does not mean grace nor grammar. We are all living for the future. Rough work now, and the graces by and by."
Phil was not a conceited fellow, by any means, but he had been so often told by women that their love for him had been a blessing to their souls, that he quite acquiesced in being a providential agent in that particular direction. Considered as a form of self-sacrifice, it was not without its pleasures. Malbone drove that afternoon to Mrs.
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