"I think, Phineas," said his
sister, "we had better say nothing about dear Mary. She is not here
at present, and probably you may not see her while you remain with
us." "What's all that about?" Phineas had demanded,--understanding
the whole matter thoroughly. Then his sister had demurely refused to
say a word further on the subject, and not a word further was said
about Miss Mary Flood Jones. They were at Floodborough, living, he
did not doubt, in a very desolate way,--and quite willing, he did not
doubt also, to abandon their desolation if he would go over there in
the manner that would become him after what had passed on one or two
occasions between him and the young lady. But how was he to do this
with such work on his hands as he had undertaken? Now that he was in
Ireland, he thought that he did love dear Mary very dearly. He felt
that he had two identities,--that he was, as it were, two separate
persons,--and that he could, without any real faithlessness, be very
much in love with Violet Effingham in his position of man of fashion
and member of Parliament in England, and also warmly attached to dear
little Mary Flood Jones as an Irishman of Killaloe. He was aware,
however, that there was a prejudice against such fulness of heart,
and, therefore, resolved sternly that it was his duty to be constant
to Miss Effingham.
Pages:
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504