A man seldom chooses his wife for her business capabilities; and a woman may have an enormous respect for the mental and spiritual calibre of a man, whom she could on no account accept for a husband. They jogged on famously together as cousins—or as Rector and female Curate—but tokens of an impending love affair, with a distant view of church-bells and orange-blossoms, simply were not. Jean never blushed; Jem never looked conscious.
Two years and a half in Dutton had established Jem there as a leading man; generally popular because of his charm of manner; though not universally approved, because he could not always think what others thought, or do what others would have dictated. He had, of course, opponents and detractors. Colonel Atherstone looked at him askance; and Colonel Atherstone's little clique cast oblique glances in imitation of their leader. Jem was still not enough of a party-man to be swallowed down, views and all, at one gulp, by any particular party in the Church—High or Low, Evangelical or Broad.
But he was the man in Dutton of all others to whom people appealed in perplexity, and to whom they came in sorrow. His wisdom was found to be just and true, his sympathy unbounded, his readiness to take trouble untirable. Above all, his life was seen to be fair and Christ-like; therefore his influence was widespread and deep. In contact with his free and loving spirit, it even came to pass that the narrow sometimes grew a little less narrow, the bumptious a little less bumptious, the condemnatory a little less condemnatory.
After this long digression—!
"Sure you have not done too much?" asked Jem.
"Not an atom! Though I know who has!"—sotto voce.
Jem ignored the last remark. "Well, but don't go on too long. I'm apt to be hard on my helpers."
"I shouldn't have thought you were ever hard on anybody."
"You think not?"
Jean failed to decipher the look which crept over his face—a tired self-questioning look—a look which she had always associated, and always would associate, with Evelyn Villiers. Jean could never slay this association of ideas. It had begun vaguely in her childhood, had taken definite shape in her girlhood; had survived until now. She no longer counted Jem to be in love with Evelyn. Observation and judgment both told her that he had or must have overcome the old romantic fancy—"if it had only been a fancy!" And the idea of Jem marrying, seldom occurred to her mind.