Murray Bradshaw felt sure that the game was in his hands if he played it with only common prudence.

There was no need of hurrying this child,--it might startle her to make downright love abruptly; and now that he had an ally in her own household, and was to have access to her with a freedom he had never before enjoyed, there was a refined pleasure in playing his fish,--this gamest of golden-scaled creatures,--which had risen to his fly, and which he wished to hook, but not to land, until he was sure it would be worth his while.
They entered the little parlor at the Parsonage looking so beaming, that Olive and Bathsheba exchanged glances which implied so much that it would take a full page to tell it with all the potentialities involved.
"How magnificent Myrtle is this evening, Bathsheba!" said Cyprian Eveleth, pensively.
"What a handsome pair they are, Cyprian!" said Bathsheba cheerfully.
Cyprian sighed.

"She always fascinates me whenever I look upon her.
Is n't she the very picture of what a poet's love should be,--a poem herself,--a glorious lyric,--all light and music! See what a smile the creature has! And her voice! When did you ever hear such tones?
And when was it ever so full of life before." Bathsheba sighed.

"I do not know any poets but Gifted Hopkins.

Does not Myrtle look more in her place by the side of Murray Bradshaw than she would with Gifted hitched on her arm ?" Just then the poet made his appearance.