Chapter II

Sarah Whiting had another suitor in the person of a wealthy and eccentric old bachelor, who, after withstanding the assaults of thousands of bright eyes and bewitching smiles, had laid his heart at the feet of our beautiful heroine. We don’t blame the old fellow for falling in love with her, any more than we blame Sarah for laughing at him, when he threw himself at her feet and “popped the question.”

Mr. Landyke Somerset was only about forty, so that, if Sarah had been less cruel, it would not have been exactly “May and December,” but about June and November. He loved her with all the fervor which the march of time had left in his heart, and was actually disconsolate when she told him “no.”

Mr. Landyke Somerset was not an ill-looking man, though he was an old bachelor. True, his hair was not as black and glossy as it had been twenty years before; there was an occasional iron-gray hair, which looked a little suspicious; yet, when he began to make his court to the divinity of his dreams, even these suddenly disappeared, and people were malicious enough to say it was through the influence of a certain compound applied by the barber. True, also, there was now and then a wrinkle in his face, which some young ladies affect to dislike. But what of all these things? Old age is honorable, and the iron-gray hairs and the wrinkles did not in the least mar the kindly expression of his phiz.

He was a very clever fellow, and though the merry little Sarah Whiting could not help laughing when he “popped the question” to her, she would very willingly have had just such an uncle, or something of that sort. In short she liked him, but she didn’t love him.

Mr. Landyke Somerset was a firm believer in the ancient verity, that “faint heart ne’er won fair lady,” and he determined not to faint or give up the chase till he had bagged the game, or had seen her the wife of another. Consequently he held out all the inducements in his power to engage her heart in his favor.

He was not what young ladies called an “old fool,” for he had sense enough to feel that he should never be able to gain the victory on the strength of his physical attributes—his personal beauty. But he was an amiable man at heart, and trusted solely to the influence of his moral and mental qualities for success. They had thus far failed him, though he still persevered.

Mr. Whiting, readily understanding what these attentions meant, did all in his power to favor his suit; for he was an old-fashioned man, and placed more confidence in the power of a good heart and plenty of money to make his daughter happy, than he did in the more common attributes of youth and good looks, even though the possessor of the first-named commodities had passed the meridian of life.

But Sarah had a mind of her own in these matters, and though she appreciated her kind father’s motives, she could not think of throwing herself away on a man of forty, even if he was an angel.

It was only the afternoon of the day preceding the conversation we have recorded, that Mr. Somerset had paid her a visit, and renewed his protestations of love to her. She had told him for the twentieth time, “no.”

When she heard her father relate the particulars of his embarrassment, the image of Mr. Somerset had involuntarily presented itself to her mind. He was abundantly able to assist them in this emergency, and for the love he bore her perhaps he would.

But, then, if she applied to him, and he afforded the necessary aid, she would be under an obligation to him, which she might find it very inconvenient to discharge.

Ruin stared her father in the face. He had said it was ruin, and she was sure it was. What right had she to be selfish or over nice, when, perhaps, she had it in her power to avert the dreadful calamity? Her father was all in all to her; and though some girls are so sentimental as to sacrifice father, mother, home, friends, for a lover, she would sacrifice a dozen lovers for her father alone, to say nothing of her mother, who was at least worth two dozen more.

Let not the reader suppose the pretty Sarah did not love him upon whom she had smiled—she did; but her bump of veneration was bigger than that other bump on the back of the head.

Her resolution was formed, and about eleven o’clock the next day, she put on her bonnet, and walked up to the Revere House, where Mr. Somerset boarded.