"Yes, fear. That is just what troubles me. I know precisely
how he loves her. Il se laisse aimer. Philip likes to be
petted, as much as any cat, and, while he will purr, Hope is
happy. Very few men accept idolatry with any degree of grace,
but he unfortunately does."

"Unfortunately?" remonstrated Hal, as far as ever from being
satisfied. "This is really too bad. You never will do him any
justice."

"Ah?" said Aunt Jane, chilling again, "I thought I did. I
observe he is very much afraid of me, and there seems to be no
other reason."

"The real trouble is," said Harry, after a pause, "that you
doubt his constancy."

"What do you call constancy?" said she. "Kissing a woman's
picture ten years after a man has broken her heart? Philip
Malbone has that kind of constancy, and so had his father
before him."

This was too much for Harry, who was making for the door in
indignation, when little Ruth came in with Aunt Jane's
luncheon, and that lady was soon absorbed in the hopeless task
of keeping her handmaiden's pretty blue and white gingham
sleeve out of the butter-plate.