“But in this case I may be supposed to take a side.”
The minister smiled.
“But not so as to prevent you from seeing clearly all sides. You are not going to tire of the task of keeping me right in village matters?”
Even when the sunshine is bright above the March air is keen and cold, and so Elizabeth, chilled with lingering so long at the gate, leaned toward the open fire, shading her face with her hand. She was silent for some time, thinking of several things.
“At least tell me that in this case, also, there is little to see, or I shall begin to fear that your father may be right when he says there may be danger of trouble arising out of this matter to us all.”
“No. There need be no trouble, if people would only not talk,” said Elizabeth, raising her head and turning so as to look at the minister. “I will tell you what I was thinking about before I went out; I was sorry that my father had spoken to you about Mr Fleming’s affairs, or that he should have suggested the idea of your speaking to the old man about them; I wanted you not to promise to speak—I mean I do not think it would do any good were you to do so.”
“Well, I did not promise.”
“No; and I think my father may forget that he has spoken to you about it; he forgets many things now. And if you would forget all about it too, it would be all the better.”
“I will be silent, and that will answer every purpose of forgetfulness, or ignorance, will it not?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Not quite; and since I have said so much, I ought to say a little more. I can see all sides of this matter with sufficient clearness to be aware that trouble to a good many people, or at least discomfort and annoyance, might easily spring out of it. As to the church, I am not sure. But if everybody would keep silence, there need be no trouble. And to tell the truth, Mr Maxwell, I was not thinking of Mr Fleming or of Jacob, or of what my father was telling yon, except in its relation to you. It is a pity that you should have been told any of those old grievances.”