"Aunt Callender called last night, I hear. She must have had something to say, or she would hardly have persuaded herself to leave her sewing so long." "She came to tell me of Phillida's engagement," said Mrs. Gouverneur, looking at Philip furtively as she spoke. "I supposed that was it." "Did you know it, then?" "Oh, Charley Millard told me last night. These lucky fellows always take it for granted that you'll rejoice in all their good fortune; they air their luck before you as though it were your own." He was looking out of the window at the limited landscape of Washington Square. "I'm sorry you feel bad about it," said his mother. Philip was silent. "I never dreamed that you had any special attachment for Phillida," said Mrs. Gouverneur. "What did you think I was made of?" said Philip, turning toward his mother. "Since she came from Siam I have seen her about every week. Now consider what a woman she is, and do you wonder that I like her?" "Why didn't you tell her so?" "I might if I'd had Charley's brass. But what is there about a critical, inefficient young man like me, chiefly celebrated for piquant talk and sarcasm--what is there to recommend me to such a woman as Phillida? If I'd had Charley's physique--I suppose even Phillida isn't insensible to his appearance--but look at me. It might have recommended me to her, though, that in one respect I do resemble St. Paul--my bodily presence is weak." And he smiled at his joke. "No, mother, I am jealous of Charley, but I am not disappointed. I never had any hopes. I'd about as soon have thought of making love to any beatified saint in glory as to Phillida. But Charley's refined audacity is equal to anything." The mother said nothing. She felt her son's bitterness too deeply to try to comfort him. "I hate it most of all for Phillida's sake," Philip went on. "It can not be a happy marriage. Here they've gone and engaged themselves without reflection, and a catastrophe is sure to follow." "Oh, maybe not," said Mrs. Gouverneur, who could not help feeling that Philip partly blamed her for the engagement. "Why, just look at it. They haven't really kept company. He has been going to dinner and dancing parties this spring, and she to Mackerelville Mission and Mrs. Frankland's Bible Readings. If they should discover their incompatibility before marriage it wouldn't be so bad; but he's off to Europe for the summer, and then they'll be married in the autumn, probably, and then what? Phillida will never spend her time dancing germans with Charley; and he would make a pretty fist running a class of urchins in Mackerelville. I tell you it only means misery for both of them." And with this prediction Philip mounted to his own room.