Arma’s first loves were merely fancies. Having no substantial foundation
they died as soon as born. Sam and Tilly had made no secret of her
origin and she was spared a shock when she learned it of those pests of
society whom, like the poor and Congress, we have always with us. She
was a great reader and devoured all the books she could obtain. Among
these was Charlotte Bronte’s story of “The Professor.” With the reading
of this story a new point of view dawned upon her. She had before this
looked upon Sam as immeasurably older and belonging to a disappearing
age. But it appeared that a difference of ages was not so important as
she had imagined, indeed might be an advantage from many points of view.
Her previous flames had been boys, except for the divine, and he was a
man of no perception—not worth considering. Besides, Sam had
money—almost always a consideration with girls, who are nearly always
full of worldly wisdom. Sam had become a possibility. As she studied him
further he became a probability. She grew shy and a trifle coquettish.
But Sam for a long time took no notice. He was absorbed in other
matters.
Arma was, of course, very much interested in Tilly’s love affair as it
developed. She viewed it with much favor. The same worldly wisdom which
told her that Sam was desirable from a matrimonial point of view, told
her also that if Tilly should go to Pittsburgh Sam must more fully
depend upon her. She became interested in cooking and studied all Sam’s
needs. Tilly was studying Billy at the same time. Arma secretly began to
resent any interference with Sam—he was her property. She pampered him
like a born mother—which she was.
Gradually but unconsciously Arma revealed her new set of ideas to Tilly
who was not lacking in perception; but Tilly made no sign—she was
relieved. For Sam’s welfare was dear to her, and here were other hands
to take up the tasks she must lay down. She became Arma’s
co-conspirator, gradually resigning to her the primacy in Sam’s affairs
which she had hitherto kept as her own.
As Arma became absorbed in Sam, she began to manifest an interest in his
work and asked many questions. It was pleasant to teach a pupil so
bright, so much interested and so beautiful—for Sam could not help but
notice her beauty. There were others who saw it also. The young men
began to call and she was not annoyed at first; but few of them
interested her very long. They knew so little. One day she betrayed
herself. One of these boys had bored her for an hour before he departed
and she met Sam in the passage.
“Well, has he gone?” said Sam.
“Yes, he has,” she replied, “and I am so glad, I like you much better.”
And these words were accompanied by a look which would have awakened and
galvanized an anchorite, and then she blushed a rosy red and fled.
There are really two bombs in this chapter. Arma’s bomb was a copy of
“The Professor,” Sam’s bomb was the look Arma gave him when she blushed.