Philip had never been soothed by that mother’s
love which flows out to us in the greater abundance
because our need is greater, which clings to us the
more tenderly because we are the less likely to be
winners in the game of life; and the sense of his
father’s affection and indulgence toward him
was marred by the keener perception of his father’s
faults. Kept aloof from all practical life as
Philip had been, and by nature half feminine in sensitiveness,
he had some of the woman’s intolerant repulsion
toward worldliness and the deliberate pursuit of sensual
enjoyment; and this one strong natural tie in his
life,—his relation as a son,—was
like an aching limb to him. Perhaps there is
inevitably something morbid in a human being who is
in any way unfavorably excepted from ordinary conditions,
until the good force has had time to triumph; and
it has rarely had time for that at two-and-twenty.
That force was present in Philip in much strength,
but the sun himself looks feeble through the morning
mists.
Chapter IV
Another Love-Scene
Early in the following April, nearly a year after
that dubious parting you have just witnessed, you
may, if you like, again see Maggie entering the Red
Deeps through the group of Scotch firs. But it
is early afternoon and not evening, and the edge of
sharpness in the spring air makes her draw her large
shawl close about her and trip along rather quickly;
though she looks round, as usual, that she may take
in the sight of her beloved trees. There is a
more eager, inquiring look in her eyes than there
was last June, and a smile is hovering about her lips,
as if some playful speech were awaiting the right
hearer. The hearer was not long in appearing.
“Take back your Corinne,” said
Maggie, drawing a book from under her shawl.
“You were right in telling me she would do me
no good; but you were wrong in thinking I should wish
to be like her.”
“Wouldn’t you really like to be a tenth
Muse, then, Maggie?” said Philip looking up
in her face as we look at a first parting in the clouds
that promises us a bright heaven once more.
“Not at all,” said Maggie, laughing.
“The Muses were uncomfortable goddesses, I think,—obliged
always to carry rolls and musical instruments about
with them. If I carried a harp in this climate,
you know, I must have a green baize cover for it;
and I should be sure to leave it behind me by mistake.”
“You agree with me in not liking Corinne, then?”
“I didn’t finish the book,” said
Maggie. “As soon as I came to the blond-haired
young lady reading in the park, I shut it up, and
determined to read no further. I foresaw that
that light-complexioned girl would win away all the
love from Corinne and make her miserable. I’m
determined to read no more books where the blond-haired
women carry away all the happiness. I should
begin to have a prejudice against them. If you
could give me some story, now, where the dark woman
triumphs, it would restore the balance. I want
to avenge Rebecca and Flora MacIvor and Minna, and
all the rest of the dark unhappy ones. Since
you are my tutor, you ought to preserve my mind from
prejudices; you are always arguing against prejudices.”
