"My promise of assistance was an empty one, after all," Huntington said with more bitterness than had ever before crept into his voice. "The alchemy of a woman's heart is past the comprehension of a bachelor like myself. But why settle your problem so hastily? You are here with me now, and what I intend to show you of life will fit you better than anything else to answer that question for yourself. Don't let it overwhelm you. See how far you can enter into what goes on about you, and then draw your conclusions regarding the probabilities of the future." "Are marriages ever successful when one's heart is made up of burnt ashes?" "Don't ask me that, my friend!" Huntington begged. "You and I have reached an age where we are entitled to use logic and judgment, and to live the years which remain to us as those two attributes may dictate. For the next few weeks I want you to imagine that you are back in college again, with no responsibilities heavier than that of enjoying yourself better than before because your sense of proportion has been developed by experience. When these weeks are past, we may again consider whether our hearts are made up of burnt ashes or of rich Harvard crimson blood. Until then, my friend, let us steadfastly refuse to be stampeded, and claim the benefit of every doubt." * * * * * XXVII * * * * * Philip Thatcher responded to the suggestion made by Huntington and his mother with such conspicuous success that within a fortnight Hamlen accepted his leadership from one experience to another with wonderment and devotion. The fact that the boy was his namesake formed the first bond, and with confidence once established intimacy developed rapidly. Boys to Hamlen had been unknown quantities, creatures to be endured if necessary but avoided if possible, and Philip did much to raise the standard of his genus in the older man's mind. Billy's explosive outbursts startled him for a time, but he learned to understand even these, and accepted them at their true value.