“I guess I shall go the long way,” said Jennie. “It will be pleasanter having someone to talk with.”
T’férgore and I exchanged a long stare; that is, I exchanged a long stare with T’férgore for a series of self-absorbed blinks.
“I am so glad,” I then remarked to Jennie, “that you aren’t put out by the old Dag—Doctor; when I say old, I mean, of course, reverend; for he isn’t really elderly, you know.”
“He doesn’t put me out a bit,” answered Jennie. “He is very quieting to me. I believe he is a sound man.”
“There is no man sounder,” I declared. “And he was just as good as he could be to his wife. I think she actually died because there was nothing more she could ask of life. I never saw such a self-satisfied expression as she had—outside of a miniature. His position is excellent and influential, too. A woman can’t help looking at that sort of thing when she is once married.”
Jennie turned about to face me, smiling. “Now, don’t, my dear, don’t,” she objected. “Let us not give our talk any such bias.”
“Oh, I won’t,” I exclaimed apprehensively. “I’m not throwing anybody at you at all. I was just going to say that though he is such an excellent man, and near to Julian and all that, he ossifies the working of my joints: I feel in such awe of him.”
“I don’t,” said Jennie.
“Yes; I’ve noticed that.”
“I think his society is wholesome for me.”