ding it a hopeless task, had given up trying
and let himself drift deliciously. The knowledge that the family would
not approve only seemed to add ardor to his love and strength to
his purpose, for the same energy and persistence which he brought to
business went into everything he did, and having once made up his mind
to marry Phebe, nothing could change this plan except a word from her.

He watched and waited for three months, so that he might not be accused
of precipitation, though it did not take him one to decide that this was
the woman to make him happy. Her steadfast nature, quiet, busy ways,
and the reserved power and passion betrayed sometimes by a flash of the
black eyes, a quiver of the firm lips, suited Archie, who possessed many
of the same attributes himself. The obscurity of her birth and isolation
of her lot, which would have deterred some lovers, not only appealed to
his kindly heart, but touched the hidden romance which ran like a vein
of gold through his strong common sense and made practical, steady-going
Archie a poet when he fell in love. If Uncle Mac had guessed what dreams
and fancies went on in the head bent over his ledgers, and what emotions
were fermenting in the bosom of his staid "right-hand man," he would
have tapped his forehead and suggested a lunatic asylum. The boys
thought Archie had sobered down too soon. His mother began to fear that
the air of the counting room did not suit him, and Dr. Alec was deluded
into the belief that the fellow really began to "think of Rose," he
came so often in the evening, seeming quite content to sit beside her
worktable and snip tape or draw patterns while they chatted.

No one observed that, though he talked to Rose on these occasions, he
looked at Phebe, in her low chair close by, busy but silent, for she
always tried to efface herself when Rose was near and often mourned that
she was too big to keep out of sight. No matter what he talked about,
Archie always saw the glossy black braids on the other side of the
table, the damask cheek curving down into the firm white throat, and the
dark lashes, lifted now and then, showing eyes so deep and soft he dared
not look into them long. Even the swift needle charmed him, the little
brooch which rose and fell with her quiet breath, the plain work she
did, and the tidy way she gathered her bits of thread into a tiny bag.
He seldom spoke to her; never touched her basket, though he ravaged
Rose's if he wanted str