"If I might venture to suppose," Mr. Rollin continued, whispering, "that
I came here to-day clothed, in any sense, as an angel of light--and,
indeed, I feel a good deal like that sort of thing to-day--so sweet are
the solaces of an approving conscience, and the consciousness of having
resisted temptation. You see I was--yes, I was going fishing this
morning, but I saw Captain Keeler go by to church--observe, too, the
beauty of setting a good example--and I persuaded myself that it was
wrong to go fishing on Sunday, and so I concluded to come to church,
too."
At the light mockery of the fisherman's tone, the bolder flattery of his
eyes, I felt the same quick flash of resentment that his words had
occasioned when he walked with me up the lane. I turned my head away
with the noble resolve to keep it there persistently.
Then I heard the whisper, "Miss Hungerford, you are driving me to the
last extreme of idol worship. I shall, keep on addressing my petitions to
that ostrich tip in your hat until you give me, at least, the benefit of
your profile."
"I don't see why you should say such irreverent things to me, Mr.
Rollin," I said, quite seriously, turning, and looking him full in the
face, for an instant.
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