Why did Mr. Randolph Chester (he liked to be called by his full name) summer in Granville when he might have gone to Bar Harbor or Newport? Because at these places of resort he would have been nobody, while in a small New Hampshire village he was a great man. In Granville he felt, though in this he was perhaps mistaken, that he could marry any of the village belles to whom he chose to hold out his finger, and this consciousness was flattering.
On his arrival at the hotel, where he had a special room reserved for him summer after summer, he was told of the new school teacher, a young, beautiful, and accomplished girl from New York.
“If I like her looks,” thought he to himself, “I may marry her. Of course she’s poor, of she wouldn’t be teaching here for the paltry wages of a country school mistress, and she’ll be glad enough to accept me.”
When he was introduced to her Mabel saw before her a middle aged man, carefully dressed, passably good looking, and evidently very well pleased with himself. On his part, he was somewhat dazzled by the school teacher’s attractions.
“Why, the girl has actual style,” he said to himself. “Egad, she would appear to advantage in a New York drawing room. I wonder if she’s heard about me.”
He felt doubtful on this point, for Mabel received him with well bred indifference. He missed the little flutter of gratified vanity which the attentions of such an eligible parti usually produced in the young ladies of Granville.
“I believe you are from New York, my own city,” he said complacently.
“I have passed some time there.”
“You must — ahem! — find a considerable difference between the city and this village.”
Undoubtedly, Mr. Chester. I find it a pleasant relief to be here.”
“To be sure. So do I. I enjoy leaving the gay saloons of New York for the green glades of the country.”
“I can’t say,” returned Mabel mischievously, “that I know much about the saloons of New York.”
“Of course I mean the saloons of fashion — the shining circles of gay society,” said Mr. Chester hastily, half suspecting that she was laughing at him. “Do you know the Livingstons, Miss Frost?”
“There is a baker of that name on Sixth Avenue, I believe,” said Mabel innocently. “Do You mean his family?”
“No, certainly not,” said Mr. Randolph Chester, quite shocked at the idea. “I haven’t the honor of knowing any baker on Sixth Avenue.”
Neither had Mabel, but she had fully made up her mind to tease Mr. Randolph Chester, whose self conceit she instinctively divined.
“Then you don’t live on Sixth Avenue,” she continued. “I wonder where I got that impression!”
“Certainly not,” said Mr. Chester, scandalized. “I have apartments on Madison Avenue.”
“I know where it is,” said Mabel.
“She can’t move in any sort of society, and yet where on earth did she get that air of distinction?” Randolph Chester reflected. “Do you like school teaching?” he asked in a patronizing tone.
“I find it pleasant.”
“I wonder you do not procure a position in the city, where you could obtain higher wages.”
“Do you think I could?” asked Mabel.
“My friend, Mr. Livingston, is one of the School Commissioners,” said Mr. Chester. “I can mention your name to him, and you might stand a chance to obtain the next vacancy.”
“Thank you, Mr. Chester, you are exceedingly kind, but I don’t think that I wish to become a candidate at present,”
“But you are really throwing away your talents in a small country village like this.”
“I don’t think so,” said Mabel. “I find many of my scholars pretty intelligent, and it is a real pleasure to guide them.”
“Mr. Randolph Chester, you mustn’t try to lure away Miss Frost. We can’t spare her,” said Mrs. Pratt.
“You see, Mr. Chester, that I am appreciated here,” said Mabel. “In the city I might not be.”
“I think,” said the bachelor gallantly, “that you would be appreciated anywhere.”
“Thank you, Mr. Chester,” returned Mabel, receiving the compliment without seeming at all overpowered by it; “but you see you speak from a very short acquaintance.”