"It is a rare talent."
"I sometimes wonder how, with his greatness—for he cannot but be conscious of it—he endures the restrictions of our narrow sphere. I mean," Miss Marty went on, as the Doctor lifted his eyebrows in some surprise, "the petty business of a country town such as ours."
"Oh," said the Doctor. "Ah, to be sure!… I supposed for a moment that you were referring to the—er—terrestrial globe."
He sighed. Miss Marty sighed likewise. Across in the covert of the woods someone had begun to beat a tattoo on the drum. Presently a cornet joined in, shattering the echoes with wild ululations.
"Those fellows will be sorry if Sir Felix catches them," observed the Doctor, anxiously. "I can't think what Hymen's about, to allow it. The noise comes from right under the home-park, too."
"You depreciate the Major!" Miss Marty tapped her bare foot impatiently on the pebbles; but, recollecting herself, drew it back with a blush.
"I do not," answered the Doctor, hotly. "I merely say that he is allowing his men yonder to get out of hand."
"Perhaps you had better go, and, as the poet puts it, 'ride on the whirlwind and direct the storm,'" she suggested, with gentle sarcasm.
The Doctor rose stiffly. "Perhaps, on the whole, I had. Your stocking"—he lifted and felt it carefully—"will be dry in five minutes or so. Shall I direct Cai Tamblyn to bring the boat hither if I pass him on my way?"
She glanced up with a quivering lip.