"It isn't her beauty," thought the handsome artist, "although she is
pretty as an angel; it isn't her blue eyes and her golden hair, for I
see blue eyes and golden hair every day of my life, and never give them
a second thought; it isn't her singing or dancing, for half the girls I
know sing and dance as well; and it can't be her spirited style of
conversation, for that's not so very new, either. Then what is it?"
Mr. Ingelow, at this point, always fell into such a morass of pros and
cons that his brain grew dazed, and he gave the problem up altogether.
But the great, incontrovertible fact remained--he was headlong in love
with Mollie, and had followed her to Washington expressly to tell her
so.
"For if I wait, and she returns to New York," mused Mr. Ingelow, "I will
have Oleander and Sardonyx both neck and neck in the race. Here there is
a fair field and no favor, and here I will try my luck."
But Mr. Ingelow was mistaken, for here in his "fair field" appeared the
most formidable rival he could possibly have had--a rival who seemed
likely to eclipse himself and Oleander and Sardonyx at one fell swoop.
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