"You have none?" he said, fixing his mild eyes reproachfully upon his
clergyman, who winced a little beneath the gaze. "Then if you have no
intentions, my advice to you is, that you quit it and let the gal
alone, or you'll ruin her, if she ain't sp'ilt already, as some of the
women folks say she is. It don't do no gal any good to have a chap,
and specially a minister, gallyvantin' after her, as I must say you've
been after this one for the last few weeks. She's a pretty little
creature, and I don't blame you for liking her. It makes my old blood
stir faster when she comes purring around me with her soft ways and
winsome face, and so I don't wonder at you; but when you say you've no
intentions, I blame you greatly. You orter have--excuse my plainness.
I'm an old man who likes my minister, and don't want him to go wrong,
and then I feel for her, left alone by all her folks--more's the shame
to them, and more's the harm for you to tangle up her affections, as
you are doing, if you are not in earnest; and I speak for her just as
I should want some one to speak for Anna."
The old man's voice trembled a little here, for it had been a wish of
his that Anna should occupy the rectory, and he had at first felt a
little resentment against the gay young creature who seemed to have
supplanted her; but he was over that now, and in all honesty of heart
he spoke both for Lucy's interest and that of his clergyman. And
Arthur listened to him respectfully, feeling, when he was gone, that
he merited the rebuke, that he had not been guiltless in the matter,
that if he did not mean to marry Lucy Harcourt he must let her alone.
And he would, he said; he would not go to Prospect Hill again for two
whole weeks, nor visit at the cottages where he was sure to find her.
He would keep himself at home; and he did, shutting himself up among
his books, and not even making a pastoral call on Lucy when he heard
that she was sick. And so Lucy came to him, looking dangerously
charming in her green riding-habit--with the scarlet feather sweeping
from her hat. Very prettily she pouted, too, chiding him for his
neglect, and asking why he had not been to see her, nor anybody. There
was the Widow Hobbs, and Mrs. Briggs and those miserable Donelsons--he
had not been near them for a fortnight. What was the reason? she
asked, beating her foot upon the carpet, and tapping the end of her
riding whip upon the sermon he was writing.