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(SEE MARRIED THE OTIIER ONE. I It wap a charmingly mild and balmy day. I The son shone beyond the orchard, and the was cool ;aside. A light breeze stirred ■^the bougCi of the old apple tree, under which '•the philosopher sat. iione o; these tilings diu the philosopher notice, unless !t might he >twn the uriiil K- < about t leaves of the targe volume Uu L.'JÍ knees, and ue had to had I place d.gdin. Ihe girl s^n iown just opposite to 'rim. J ''It's a very important thing I want to ftsk you, she begm. tugging ..t a tutt oi grass, 'and it's very—difficult, and von mustn't tell anyone I asked y.>u at least. Id rather you didn't." 1 shall not speak ot it." ?aid the philo- sopher. Id rather you didn't." 1 shall not speak ot it." ?aid the philo- sopher. "And you mustn't look at me, please, willIe I ¡ m asking you." } "I den t think I was looking at yon. but if I was beg your pardon," >xid the philo- ¡I sopher, apologetically She palled the tutt -of grass right, cut of the ground and flung it from her with all her Lrct "Suppose ••• man"—she begin. "No, that's not right. "You c-in take any hypothesis you please." observed the phnosophf "jut" Yutl must Tenfy it afterwards, of cuurse." "Oh, do let, me go on Suppose a. girl. iMr Jercungiiam—I wish you wouldn't nod." "It wa? only to ..ilic.w rhat I followed vou. "Oh. of cours* vou 'follow me, as you a 1 ¡ it Suppose a girl had two lovers- you're nodding again !—or, I ought to say. -suppose there were two who might be in •„k>ve with a girl." Oniy two?' sked the philosopher. "You •ee "ny number of men night be in iove With '— "Oh. Ire can I two the rest vut," said Miss May. with sudden dimple; "they dont matter. "Very well, §;ud the philosopher. "If they are irrelevant, we will put tnem aMde. "Suppose, then, that one of these men v *w, oh, awfully m love with the girl, and I —6-ad proposed, vou know' "A moment ;v' said the philosopher, open- ing a notebook, "Let me take down his propositi-a. What was it?' "W hv, proposed to br-—asked her to narry him." said the girl, with a stare. "Def." me How stupid of me I forgot that special use of the word. Yes"" "The srirl likes aim pretty well, and her j people approve ot hint, and all that. you tnow." "Thit simplifies the problem," said the philosopher, nodding again. I "But ^he's not in—in love with him. you know. She aoesn't raally cafe for him — miieh. D.. you under-tend?" Perfectly- It i- J, most natural state of jnird." "We1i, th en. suppose that there's another man—what are you writing?" "I only put down (B)—like that, pleaded the philosopher, meekly exhibiting his note- book. She looked at him in a sort- of helpless e casrpeiatwin, an<i • ist a smile somwhere in the background ot :t "Oh, you really are"—she exclaimed. "But let me go on. The man is a friend of the girl's: he's very clever—oh. fearfully I clever—and h«-s rather handsome. You needn't put that down." "It 13 certainly not verv material. ad- nutted the philosopher, and he crossed out the "handsome Clever" he left. 'And the in' is moawfully—she a>1 mires 'mm tremendously she thinks him just. the greatest man that ever lived, vo'i know. And she—sue" The girl paused. "rrn following," said the philosopher, w th i peni: jioised. "Sued thick it better than the wide world if-if «hc could be anything to him, ton. know. "Yon mean be.on^e his wife?" t "Weil, "f oune T do—at least, I suppose I do." You spoke rather vaguely, you know." The fprl qa«t one glance at the philosopher as she replied I "■•11, vtr-f, I did mem become his n-ifa Yes. sVcU "But. continued the girl, starting ou another t.uft of gra«s, "he doesn't, think much about these things. He like- her. I think I ht likes her" "Weil, doesn't dislike her?" suggested the philosopher. "Shai! we call him indiffe- rent "I don't know. Ye<?, ratuer indifferent. I don't think he thinks about it, you know. But -he—she's pretty. You needn't put that down." "1 was about. to do sc." observed Hie philosopher. "She thinks lif" with him would be just heaven; and-»ud sue thinks flie would make him awt'uilv happy. She would—would be *o proud o? him, you see." "I see. Yes?" r "And—I don t know how to put it, quite — she flunks that it ever he thought about it at all, lie might care foi her. because he doesn't care for anybody else; and ^iie's prettv "You sud that before." "Ob. dtar' T d.iresay I u-1. And most, men care for somebody, don't they? Some gM. I mean. Most men. no doubt." conceded the philo- sopher. "Well. t-fieii. what ought she to do? It's not a real thing, you know. Mr.rniricr- han, It's in- in a Bovel I was reading." She said tins lustily, and blushed itS siia #pok" "Dear me! and it'« quite an interesting oa?e Yes, I see. The question is. nil! she act n ost wisely in accepting the offer .A a man who !r:v.f her exceedingly, but for 'a honi s'm". eiitertaiiij only a moderate affec- tion' "Ye;j ,lu,t,.1 uk;ng. He's just a friend.' I "'Exactly. Or in marrying the other whom sue loveg ex.1' — "That's not it. How can «he marrr him ? He h-isn't-—lie haSii't asked her. you see "TT ie. I forgot. Let us a-sume though, for the moment, that he has ?sked tier. She would then have to consider which mamage w^ulu pro'r: h.'y De productive of the. greater «nm total of" but you nwlnt consider that." I But it seems the best logical order. We an afterwarJ.s make allowances for the ele- ment of uivyrtairity a used by" — I "Oh. Ttc I d01i"t wanr it like that. I kf-o v perfectly well what she'd do if he— i the 'titer man. you know—asked h-r." "You «T,oreh-n.] that"—— I "Never inind what I 'apprehend.' T tke it just a« told you." "Ye:*y <>• A has asked her, B has II .-t Yes," "May I take it that but for the disturbing Yes," "May I take it that but for the disturbing infi'-ence oi B. A wouid be a satis,factory— a ■•—candidate ?" Ya-e-i i: th'nk so." She. therefor", enjoys a certainty of con- siderable happiness if she mames A?" Ye-e*. Sut perfect, because of—B. you know." '\Krte s". qmte so but still a fair amount of happlnesv. Is it not ?o' 'I don't—well, perhaps.' "On the other hand, if B did ask her, we are to postulate a higher degree of hap- tufless ?" "Yes. pka.se, Mr Jenuagham, much higher." FI;" both of them*" "FíJr her Nc-ver mind him." "Very wril. That, a.gain simplifies the problem. Out thu asking her is a contin- gency oalyr" "Yes. that's all." The philosopher spread out his bands. "My dear v.nng lady," he said, "it be- comes a quertijii of degree. How probable or imprebi'hle is it?" "1 dont know. Not very probable-un. lets' "VY-H r "UnJe-??! he did happen to notice, you kI\)w. A.h. yes. We supposed that. if he thought of it. he .vunll probably take the desired #t«p—at "east that h" might be led ^o do so. Coi!d -;he notr-er—indicate her pre- ten< e?" "Site might try—r >, she wouldn't do much. Yuu set he--he doesn't th::ik about such tilings. '7 understand precisely. And it seems to :J1t, Mi *) May, that in that very fact we Inl our soiatlon." "Do fe* sh* ^aiked. I think «o. He has evidently no natural I inclination towards her—perhaps net towards mavr-.v" at ill. AD, feeling moused in him Wiraid be a*oe»»arilv ihailow. and ia a measure artificial -and in all likelihood purely temporary. Moreover, if stir took steps t,u axouso his attention one or two things would be likely to happen. Are you following me i "y æ, Mr. Jerningham." "Either he would be impelled by her over- tures—which you 1114,t admit is not impro- bable-and then the position would be Ull. pieasunt. and even degrading to her, or, OIl the other hand, he mignt, through a. mistaken feeling of gallantry" "Through what "Through a mistaken idea of politeness, or a mistaken view of what was kind, allow himself to be drawn into a connection for which he had no genuine liking. You agree, with nte that one or other of these things would be likely ?" "Yes, I suppose they would, unless he did i come to care for her.' 'Ah. you return to that hypothesis. I think it's an exticmeiv fancy one. No. She needn't marry A. but she must let B alone.' The philosopher closed his book, took off his glasses, wiped them, re-placed them, and leaned back against the trunk of the apple tree. The girl picked a. dandelion in pieces. After a long pause she asked: "You think B's feelings wouldn't, be at all likely tir-t" change?" "That depends on the sort of a man he I is. But if he is an able man, *ith intel- lectual interests which engross him-a. man who has chosen his path ill life—a man to whom woman's society is not a necessity?''— "He's jun like that," said the girl, as she bit the head off a daisy. A silence followed. "Then," said the philospher, "I see not the least reason for supposing that his feel- ings will change." "And would you advise her to marry the other—-A ?" "W<di, on the whole, I should. A is a good fellow (I think we made A a good fellow); he is a suitable match, ins love for II her is true and genuine"—— It.s tremendous "Yes—and—er extreme. She likes h;m There is every reason to hope that her liking will levelop into a sufficiently deep and staple affection. She will get nd or her folly about B and make A a good wife Yes, Miss May. if I were the author of your novel lshouJd make her marry A, and I should can that a happy ending." "Dont you think that perhaps if B found out afterwards--when fhe had married A. you know—that she had cared for him so very, very much, he might be a little sorryv" "If he were a gentleman he would regret it deeply." "I mean—sorry 011 his own account; that -that he had thrown away all that, y-»u know The professor looked meditative. "I think," he pronounced, "that it is very possible he would. I can well imagine it." "He might never find anybody to love him like that again, she said, gazing on the glea> ling paddock. "Proba.bly he would not," agreed the phi- losopher. "And—and most people ke being loved, don't they ?" "To crave for love is an almost universal instinct, Mws May." "Yes., almost," she said, with a dreaiy l'ltie smile. "You see. he'll eet old and-— have no one to look alter him." "He will." 'And no home." "\Veil. in a sense, none." corrected the philosopher, smiling. "But really you'll frighten me I'm a bachelor myself, you know. Miss Mav. "Yes," she whispered, just audibly. ''And all your terrors are before me." "Well. unless" "Oh, we needn't have that 'unless, laughed the philosopher, cheerfully. "There's no 'unless" about it, Miss May." The girl jumped to her feet; for an instant she looked at the philosopher. She opened her iips as if to speak, *nd jt the thought of what lay at her tonsrtle's tip her face grew I red. But the philosopher was gazing past her, and his eyes re-ted in calm contemplation cu the gleaming paddock. "A beautiful thing, sunshine, to be sure." said he. Her blush faded a way into paleness; her itp- closed. Without speaking she turned I and walked ;;lowly away, her head drooping. Tne philosopher reard the rustle of her skirt I 1:1 the long grass of the orchard he watclaed her for a few moments. "A pretty, graceful creature,' said he, with a smile. Then he opened his book, took his pencil in his hand, anci slipped in a careful forefinger to mark the fly-leaf. The sun had II passed midheaven. and began to descend westward before ht, finished the book. Then he stretched himself and looked at his watch. "Good gracious, two o'clock! I shall be j late for lunch." anil he hurried to his feet. H3 was very late, for lunch, "Everything's cold, wailed his hostess, "Wh°re have von been, Mr. Jerningham?" "Only in the orchard—reading." "And you're, misled Msy "Mis.sed Miss May! How do you mean ? I had i long talk with her this nwrning-a mo-t interesting talk." "But you weren't here to say good-bye Now, you don t mean to say that you forgnt that she was leaving by the two o'clock [train? What a man you are "Dear me To think of mv forgetting it said the philosopher, shatie-facedly. :She told me to say good-bye to you for her." "She's verv k;1"I-1, T r>n't- forgive mysf-lf." His host?** looked -it him for a morr>ent; then she s'ghed, and smiled and sighed agiiin. "Have you everything yon want?" she ) asked "Evervthirg. thank you," said he. -itting down opposite to the cheese and dropping his book (he thought he would just run throueh the last chapter again; against the loa': "everything in the world that I want, thanks." Hi* h"st?s« did not tell him that the girl had come in from the apn'e orchard and run hastily upstairs lest fa*" friend should see what her friend did >ee in her eyes. So that he had no «.u^i'don at all that he hid re- ceived ;,n offer of marriage--and refused it. And he did not refer to anvthing of that sort wiien he paused once in reading and ex^ aimed: "J am rcftllv sorry I missed Miss May. That was really ;:n it>ter»«tine case of her*. But I gave the right answer. The girl ought to marry "A." And the girl did.

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