Had he
been a Mormon he would have married them all. They too--the
neglected that none had invited to the feast of love--they also
should know the joys of home, feel the sweet comfort of a husband's
arm. Being a Christian, his power for good was limited. But at
least he could lift from them the despairing conviction that they
were outside the pale of masculine affection. Not one of them, so
far as he could help it, but should be able to say:
"I--even I had a lover once. No, dear, we never married. It was one
of those spiritual loves; a formal engagement with a ring would have
spoiled it--coarsened it. No; it was just a beautiful thing that
came into my life and passed away again, leaving behind it a
fragrance that has sweetened all my days."
That is how he imagined they would talk about it, years afterwards,
to the little niece or nephew, asking artless questions--how they
would feel about it themselves. Whether law circles are peculiarly
rich in unattractive spinsters, or whether it merely happened to be
an exceptional season for them, Bute could not say; but certain it
was that the number of sour-faced girls and fretful old maids in
excess of the demand seemed to be greater than usual that winter in
Edinburgh, with the result that young Hapgood had a busy time of it.
He made love to them, not obtrusively, which might have laid them
open to ridicule--many of them were old enough to have been his
mother--but more by insinuation, by subtle suggestion.
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