"No, I only spoke of Mr. Morton as a gentleman."
"I imagine that Miss Warren thinks that I have mistaken my calling, and that I ought to be a gardener."
"That's an odd impression. Mr. Yocomb would not even trust you to weed," she retorted quickly.
"I have a fellow feeling for weeds; they grow so easily and naturally. But I must correct your impressions, Miss Adah. I'm not the dignitary you imagine-only an editor, and an obscure night one at that."
"Your night work on one occasion bears the light very well. I hope it may be the earnest of the future," said Mr. Hearn impressively.
I felt that he had a covert meaning, for he had glanced more than once at Miss Warren when I spoke, and I imagined him a little anxious as to our mutual impressions.
"I feel it my duty to set you right also, Mr. Hearn," I replied, with quiet emphasis, for I wished to end all further reference to that occasion. "Through Mr. and Mrs. Yocomb's kindness, I happened to be an inmate of the farmhouse that night. I merely did what any man would have done, and could have done just as well. My action involved no personal peril, and no hardship worth naming. My illness resulted from my own folly. I'd been overworking or overworked, as so many in my calling are. Conscious that I am not in the least heroic, I do not wish to be imagined a hero. Mrs. Yocomb knows what a bear I've been," I concluded, with a humorous nod toward her.
"Yes, I know, Richard," she said, quietly smiling.
"After this statement in prose, Mr. Hearn, you will not be led to expect more from me than from any ordinary mortal."
"Indeed, sir, I like your modesty, your self-depreciation."