"
"Well, I do--and even Judy Hatch does. She asked me the other day whom
I thought the handsomest man in the neighbourhood, and I'm sure she
expected me to say Mr. Mullen."
She dimpled, and his arm went out impulsively toward her.
"But you didn't, Molly?" he returned.
"Why, of course not--did you imagine that I should? I said I thought Mr.
Jonathan Gay was the best looking."
His arm fell to his side, and for a minute or two he walked on in
silence.
"I wish I didn't love you, Molly," he burst out at last. "I sometimes
almost believe that you're one of the temptresses Mr. Mullen preached
against this morning. I've tried again and again to tear you out of my
heart, but it is useless."
"Yes, it's useless, Abel," she answered, melting to dimples.
"I tell myself," he went on passionately, "that you're not worth
it--that you're perfectly heartless--that you're only a flirt--that
other men have held your hands, kissed your lips even---"
"And after telling yourself those dreadful truths, what happens?" she
inquired with interest.
"What happens? Well, I go to work and don't think of you for at least
three hours.
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