“When will it end? How long will this fit of enthusiasm last? If you ask these questions, I cannot tell you. Let time decide.
“You have heard, I suppose, of Mr. Randolph Chester, the elderly bachelor who favors Granville with his presence every summer. I made his acquaintance yesterday, while calling upon Mrs. Pratt. His air of condescension on being introduced to the school teacher was very amusing. He was evidently disappointed by my indifference, and seemed piqued by it. When I was asked to play I determined to produce an impression upon him, and I did my best. Mr. Chester seemed surprised to find a country school mistress so accomplished. He recommended me to become a music teacher and offered to assist me to obtain a position in the city, professing to regard me worthy of a larger field than Granville affords. He offered his escort home, and I accepted.
“Today Mr. Chester did me the great honor of visiting my school. He professed a great interest in the subject of education, but I learn, on inquiry, that he has never before visited the school. I suggested to him that Miss Bassett would be glad to receive a call; but he shrugged his shoulders and did not welcome the proposal. I felt a malicious satisfaction in introducing him publicly to my scholars as one who took a strong interest in them, and announced that he would address them. My visitor started, blushed, and looked embarrassed, but retreat was impossible. He made a halting speech, chiefly consisting of congratulations to the scholars upon having so accomplished and capable a teacher. On the whole he rather turned the tables upon me.
“It is quite in the line of possibility that I may have a chance to become Mrs. Randolph Chester before the season is over. If I accept him I shall insist on your being one of my bridesmaids.”
Chapter 8
Granville was not on the great highway of travel. It was off the track of the ordinary tourist. Yet now and then a pilgrim in search of a quiet nook, where there was nothing to suggest the great Babel of fashion, came to anchor in its modest hostelry, and dreamed away tranquil hours under the shadow of its leafy elms. Occasionally, in her walks to and from school, Mabel noticed a face which seemed less at home in village lanes than in city streets, but none that she had seen before.
“I shall finish my summer experiment without recognition,” she said to herself in a tone of gratulation. But she was mistaken.
Within a few rods from the school house, one afternoon, she met a young man armed with a fishing rod. He was of medium height, broad shouldered, wore a brown beard, and had a pleasant, manly face lighted up by clear and expressive eyes. To Mabel’s casual glance his features looked strangely familiar, but she could not recall the circumstances under which they had met.
The stranger looked doubtfully in her face for an instant, then his countenance brightened up.
“If I am not mistaken,” he said eagerly, “it is Miss Mabel Fairfax.”
Mabel, at the sound of her real name, looked around uneasily, but luckily none of her scholars was within hearing,
“Mabel Frost,” she said hurriedly.
“I beg pardon,” replied the young man, puzzled; “but can I be mistaken?”
“No, you are right; but please forget the name you have called me by. Here I am Mabel Frost, and I teach the village school.”
There was a look of wonder, mingled with sympathy, in the young man’s face.
“I understand,” he said gently. “You have been unfortunate; you have lost your fortune, and you have buried yourself in this out of the way village.”
Mabel preferred that he should accept the explanation that he himself had suggested.
“Do not pity me,” she said. “I have no cause to complain. I am happy here.”
“How well you bear your reverses!” he replied admiringly.
Mabel felt like a humbug; but it was a necessary consequence of the false position in which she had placed herself.
“I do not deserve your praise,” she said honestly. “I am sure I ought to know you,” she added. “Your face is familiar, but I cannot recall where we have met.”