No; none of these things should occur. The Tramlays should not again board at Hayn Farm, unless he could manage in some way to be away from home at the time. He would oppose it with all his might. And, yet, what could he say by way of explanation to his parents? There are some things that one cannot explain,--not if one is a young man who has suddenly had his head turned by change of scene.
How he should say farewell to Lucia troubled him a great deal, particularly as the time was approaching rapidly. To tell her of his love would be unmanly, while he was unable to carry love forward to its natural fruition; but, on the other hand, would it be right for him to take mere friendly leave after having betrayed himself over her hand at the carriage window? And if her manifestations of jealousy at the Dinon party meant anything more than mere desire to monopolize his attention, would she not hate him if he went away without some expression of tenderness?
The longer he cudgelled his wits, the more inactive they became. He resolved to call at once, and trust to chance, and perhaps a merciful Providence, to help him to a proper leave-taking. He wondered if she would be at home: he had heard her recapitulate a succession of engagements which seemed to him to dispose of a week of afternoons and evenings. He would seek her father, and ask him when Lucia could be found at home. He acted at once upon the impulse, but Tramlay was not at his office. As the time was about noon, Phil strolled to the restaurant to which the iron-merchant had taken him. Tramlay was not there, so the young man took a seat and ordered luncheon. Just as it was served, Marge passed him, without seeing him, and a young man at a table behind Phil said to his companion,--
“That Marge is a lucky dog. Have you heard that he’s going to marry Tramlay’s daughter? She’ll be rich: iron is looking up.”
“Is that so?” asked the other. “When did it come out?”
“I don’t know whether it’s announced yet,” was the reply, “but one of the fellows at the bank told me, and I suppose he got it from Marge: he knows him very well.”
Phil’s appetite departed at once: it seemed to him his life would accompany it. His mind was in a daze; his heart was like lead. His feelings reached his face, and, abstracted and stupid though he felt, he could not help seeing that he was attracting attention, so he paid his bill, went out, and hurried along the street. The first distinct impression of which he was conscious was that there need no longer be any doubt about how to say good-by to Lucia; a formal courteous note would suffice: he would not trust himself to meet her. Could he blame her? No: he certainly had no claim upon her heart, nor any reason to really believe she had regarded him as more than a pleasant acquaintance. She had let him kiss her hand; but had not she herself taught him that this was merely an old-time form of salutation? She had the right to marry whom she would; yet Marge---- The thought of that man--that lazy, listless, cold, dry stick--being bound for life to a merry, sensitive soul like Lucia drove him almost mad.