“I stumbled over him lying on his face in Finlay’s grove,” said Clifton to his sister. “He would have run away, if I had not been too much for him. We borrowed Joe Finlay’s rod, and he went fishing with me. It is a great deal better for him than being stunned by women’s talk at Mrs Jacob’s.”
“Yes, the sewing-circle!” said Elizabeth, “What will Mrs Jacob say? Did he forget it? Of course he was expected home.”
“He said nothing about it, nor did I. Jacob asked me to go over in the evening. Why are you not there?”
“I have been there all the afternoon. I came home to make father’s tea. I told Mrs Jacob I would go back. I am afraid Mr Maxwell’s coming here to-night will offend her.”
“Of course, but what if it does?”
“And do you like him? Does he improve on acquaintance?”
“He turns out to be flesh and blood, not a skin stuffed with logic, and the odds and ends of other people’s theological opinions. He is a dyspeptic being, homesick and desponding, but he is a man. And look here, Lizzie; if you really want to do a good work, you must take him in hand, and not let Mrs Jacob, and the deacons, and all the rest of them sit on him.”
“How am I to help it, if such be their pleasure?”
“I have helped it to-night. Don’t say a word about the sewing-circle, lest his conscience should take alarm. I hope I shall see Mrs Jacob’s face when she hears that he has spent the evening here.”
“I don’t care for Mrs Jacob, but I am afraid the people may be disappointed.” For in Gershom the ladies met week by week in each other’s houses to sew for the benefit of some good cause, and their husbands and brothers came to tea in the evening, and there was to be a more than usually large gathering on this occasion, Elizabeth knew. “However, I am not responsible,” thought she.