“Oh, there was nothing particularly grand about it,” said the minister, with the air of lingering pleasantly in recollection over an agreeable subject. “These simple sort of things are so much better; but it takes a clever person to see just what is adapted to a country place. I was saying to Susie this morning it’s a grand thing to bring people together like you—and no expense to speak of when you know how to go about it——”
“And what did Susie think?” Mrs Ogilvy asked.
“My dear lady,” said the minister, “nobody will say I am one to take down the ladies or give them a poor character; but they are maybe slower of the uptake than men—especially when it’s another lady, and one with gifts past the common, that is held up for their example.”
“I thought you were too wise a man to hold up anybody for an example.”
“You’re always sensible, Mrs Ogilvy. That is just what I should have remembered: but perhaps I am too open in my speech at all times. I’ve come to speak to Susie as if she knew things and the ways of the world just as well as me.”
Mr Logan was a little vague about his pronouns, which arose not from want of grammar, but from national prejudice or prepossession.
“And so she does,” said Mrs Ogilvy, with a little surprise. “She’s young still, the dear lassie; but it’s very maturing to the mind to be in a position like hers, and she is just one of the most reasonable persons I know.”
“Ah, yes,” said the minister, with a sigh, which did not interrupt the lurking smile; “but it’s a very different thing to have a companion of your own age.”
At this she began to look at him with more attention than she had as yet shown, and perceived that there was a little flush more than ordinary on the minister’s face. Had he come to make any revelation? Mrs Ogilvy had all the natural prejudices, and she was resolved that at least she would do nothing to help him out. She sat demurely and looked at him, while he, leaning forward, traced lines upon the gravel with the end of his stick. The faint imbecility of the smile about his lips, made of vanity and pleasure and a little shame, always irritating to women, called forth an ironical watchfulness on her part.
“There is but one way of having that,” he continued; “a man’s a sad wreck in many cases when he’s left a widower, as you may say, in the middle of his days—