Rose in Bloom by Louisa May Alcott

prepared to applaud whatever it is. We owe him that, you know.?

“Indeed we do! If Rose ever speaks of him to you, tell her I shall

see that he comes to no harm, and she must do the same for my

Archie.?

That unusual demonstration of tenderness from reserved Phebe

very naturally turned the conversation into a more personal

channel, and Archie devoted himself to building castles in the air

so successfully that they passed the material mansion without

either being aware of it.

“Will you come in?” asked Phebe when the mistake was rectified

and she stood on her own steps looking down at her escort, who

had discreetly released her before a pull at the bell caused five

heads to pop up at five different windows.

“No, thanks. I shall be at church this afternoon, and the oratorio

this evening. I must be off early in the morning, so let me make the

most of precious time and come home with you tonight as I did

before,” answered Archie, making his best bow, and quite sure of

consent.

“You may.” And Phebe vanished, closing the door softly, as if she

found it hard to shut out so much love and happiness as that in the

heart of the sedate young gentleman who went briskly down the

street humming a verse of old “Clyde” like a tuneful bass viol:

“Oh, let our mingling voices rise

In grateful rapture to the skies,

Where love has had its birth.

Let songs of joy this day declare

That spirits come their bliss to share

With all the sons of earth.”

That afternoon Miss Moore sang remarkably well, and that

evening quite electrified even her best friends by the skill and

power with which she rendered “Inflammatus” in the oratorio.

“If that is not genius, I should like to know what it is?” said one

young man to another as they went out just before the general

crush at the end.

“Some genius and a great deal of love. They are a grand team, and,

when well driven, astonish the world by the time they make in the

great race,” answered the second young man with the look of one

inclined to try his hand at driving that immortal span.

“Daresay you are right. Can’t stop now she’s waiting for me. Don’t

sit up, Mac.?

“The gods go with you, Archie.?

And the cousins separated one to write till midnight, the other to

bid his Phebe good-bye, little dreaming how unexpectedly and

successfully she was to earn her welcome home.

Chapter 20 WHAT MAC DID

Rose, meantime, was trying to find out what the sentiment was

with which she regarded her cousin Mac. She could not seem to

reconcile the character she had known so long with the new one

lately shown her, and the idea of loving the droll, bookish,

absentminded Mac of former times appeared quite impossible and

absurd, but the new Mac, wide awake, full of talent, ardent and

high-handed, was such a surprise to her, she felt as if her heart was

being won by a stranger, and it became her to study him well

before yielding to a charm which she could not deny.

Affection came naturally, and had always been strong for the boy;

regard for the studious youth easily deepened to respect for the

integrity of the young man, and now something warmer was

growing up within her; but at first she could not decide whether it

was admiration for the rapid unfolding of talent of some sort or

love answering to love.

As if to settle that point, Mac sent her on New Year’s Day a little

book plainly bound and modestly entitled Songs and Sonnets.

After reading this with ever-growing surprise and delight, Rose

never had another doubt about the writer’s being a poet, for though

she was no critic, she had read the best authors and knew what was

good. Unpretentious as it was, this had the true ring, and its very

simplicity showed conscious power for, unlike so many first

attempts, the book was not full of “My Lady,” neither did it indulge

in Swinburnian convulsions about

“The lilies and languors of peace,

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