The lovely little Miss Selby came from Boston, and the large and notunhandsome Mr. Anderson came from New York, and they did not like eachother.
Indeed, Miss Selby was not very fond, just then, of any one who didnot come from Boston. Sometimes she even went so far as to declare toherself that she did not like any one at all except the members of onecertain household in Boston.
It was at night, after she had gone to bed, that she usually made thissomewhat narrow-minded declaration, because it was at that time, whenshe was lying in the dark, that she would most vividly imagine thatespecial household. Her mother, her grandmother, and her two aunts;they were the kindest, wittiest, most delightful, lovable people whoever breathed, and she compared all other persons with them. And, socompared, Mr. Anderson came out very badly.
As for Mr. Anderson, the reason he did not like Miss Selby was becauseshe obviously did not like him. He was a little sensitive about beingliked.
He almost always had been, in the past, and when he saw Miss Selby’seyes resting on him, with that look which meant that she was mentallycomparing him with her mother, her grandmother, and her two aunts, hefelt chilled to the bone. Not that he looked chilled; on the contrary,his face grew red, and he fancied that his neck, his ears, and hishands did also.
He justly resented this. It was not his fault that he was sitting ather table. It wasn’t her table, anyhow; purely by luck had she satalone at it so long. It was the only place left in the dining room,and the landlady told him to sit there.
As he pulled out his chair he said, “Good evening,” with a friendlyand unsuspicious smile, and Miss Selby glanced up at him as if shewere surprised to hear a human voice issuing from this creature, andbent her head in something probably intended to be a nod.
Naturally, he did not speak again. But, as he sat facing her, and withhis back to the room, he could not help his eyes resting upon her fromtime to time, and it was then that he had encountered that chillylook.
It was very pitiful, he thought, to see one as young as she behavingin such a way—really pitiful. Because she was not unattractive; even acasual glance had informed him of that.
Dark-browed, she was, and dark-eyed; but with hair that was bright andsoft and almost blond, and a lovely rose color in her cheeks; the sortof girl a man would admire, if there had been the true womanlygentleness in her aspect. But after that look, it was impossible toadmire; he could only pity.
Strange as it may seem, Miss Selby pitied him, and for a somewhatillogical reason. She saw pathos in the man because he was so large—somuch too large. His great shoulders towered above the table; knivesand forks looked like toys in his lean, brown hands, and his face wasinvisible, unless she raised her eyes, which she did not intend to doagain.
She had seen him, though, as he crossed the room, and she might havethought him not bad looking, if he had not come to sit at her table.It was an honest and alert young face, healthily tanned, with warm,gray eyes, and a crest of wheat-colored hair above his forehead. Butwhen he did sit down at her table, she immediately began her usualcomparisons.
She imagined this young man in that sitting room in Boston, and shesaw clearly how much too large he was. It was a small room,