In the evening Allan Thorpe called and invited Mabel to go out for a walk. It was a beautiful moonlight night. They walked slowly to the pond, which was not far away, and sat down on a rustic seat beneath a wide spreading oak. They had been talking on various things for some time, when a sudden silence came upon both. It was at length broken by the young artist.
“I hope you will forgive me for bringing you here,” he said.
“Why should you want forgiveness?” she asked, very much surprised.
“Because I brought you here with a special object in view. Rebuke me if you will, but — Mabel, I love you.”
She did not seem much surprised.
“How long has it been so?” she asked in a low voice.
“I began to love you,” he answered, “when I first saw you at the artists’ reception. But you were so far removed from me that I did not dare to avow it, even to myself. You were a rich social queen, and I was a poor man. I should never have dared to tell you all this if you had not lost your wealth.”
“Does this make me any more worthy?” asked Mabel smiling.
“It has brought you nearer to me. When I saw how bravely you met adverse fortune; when I saw a girl brought up to every luxury, as you were, quietly devoting herself to teaching a village school, I rejoiced. I admired you more than ever, and I resolved to win you if possible. Can you give me a hope, Mabel?
He bent over her with a look of tender affection in his manly face.
“I won’t keep you in suspense, Allan,” she said with an answering look. “I have not known you long but long enough to trust my future in your hands.”
After a while Allan Thorpe began to discuss his plans and hopes for the future.
“I am beginning to be successful,” he said. “I can, even now, support you in a modest way, and with health I feel assured of a larger — I hope a much larger — income in time. I can relieve you from teaching at once.”
Mabel smiled.
“But suppose I do not consider it a burden. Suppose I like it.”
“Then you can teach me.”
“It might become monotonous to have only one pupil.”
“I hope not,” said Allan earnestly.
When he pressed her to name an early day for their marriage, Mabel said: “Before we go any further, I have a confession to make. I hope it won’t be disagreeable to you.”
He silently inclined his head to listen.
“Who told you I had lost my property?” she asked.
“No one. I inferred it from finding you here, teaching a village school for seven dollars a week,” replied Allan.
“What! Have you inquired my income so exactly? I fear you are mercenary.”
“I can remember the time — not so long since, either — when I earned less than that by my art. But, Mabel, what do you mean by your questions? Of course you have lost your property.”
“Then my banker has failed to inform me of it. No, Allan, I am no poorer than I ever was.”
“Why, then, did you become a teacher?” asked Allan Thorpe, bewildered.
“Because I wished to be of some service to my kind; because I was tired of the hollow frivolity of the fashionable world. I don’t regret my experiment. I never expected to be so richly rewarded.”
“And you, as rich as ever, bestow your hand on a poor artist?” he exclaimed almost incredulously.
“Unless the poor artist withdraws his offer,” she answered with a smile.
Of the conversation that followed it is needful only to report that it was mutually decided that Mabel’s secret was to be kept for the present. She was still to be the poor school teacher in the eyes of Granville. The marriage was to take place in October, Mabel being reconciled to the briefness of the engagement by the representation that October would be a favorable month for a voyage to Europe. They had already decided to spend two years in Italy. Mabel had always longed to see Italy, and it would no doubt be full of delightful opportunities of improvement in his art for Allan Thorpe.