“As, for instance, lectures by infidels, and the like,” remarks Marion, still with the dryness of tone that those familiar to her understand, and calling to mind the fact that she had heard of Mrs. Easterly as a delighted listener, for an hour and three quarters, to the popular infidel orator, two evenings before.
“Oh, lectures! Why, of course, they have a set time; every one knows they must be lengthy. They have abstruse themes to handle, and many classes of hearers to please.”
“But the mere commonplaces of a prayer-meeting can be compressed into small compass, as well as not, the theme of personal salvation not being supposed to be of much importance, nor very abstruse, I suppose.”
Mrs. Easterly arched her eyebrows; said nothing, because she didn’t know what to say; made the rest of her stay brief, and remarked, when she had gotten out of Marion’s hearing, that she had heard that Miss Wilbur spoken of as peculiar—having infidel tendencies, indeed. Perhaps there was a shade of truth in it. For her part, she wondered that Dr. Dennis should have been so imprudent as to have selected that sort of a wife. It was imprudent in Marion to have answered her caller in those words, or in that spirit. Sarcasm was lost on her, for she hadn’t the right sort of brains to understand it. It is a curious fact that certain people, who can be very sarcastic in themselves, can not understand or appreciate it in others.
And so trivial a matter as this troubled Marion? Well, yes, it did. She had not been long in her position, you will remember. It was really her first rude awakening from the dream that all Christian people regarded their pastor with a certain reverent courtesy; not in a cringing or servile spirit, not in a spirit in any sense at variance with true independence of thought and action, but in the chivalrous spirit of the olden time, reverencing the office, rather than the man, and according all possible courtesy to the man, because of the position he held, as ambassador from the King’s court. Marion’s early childhood had been spent among simple, earnest Christians—Christians whose reverent spirit had been an outgrowth of Puritan New England; and, while her later years had passed among a very different class of people, she yet had clung to the fancy that Christians everywhere cherished the bond of relationship—the tie stronger than that of blood—and spoke wisely and with respect of those who belonged, like themselves, to the royal family. Mrs. Easterly’s words had jarred, not only because Dr. Dennis was her husband, but because he was a clergyman, and because he was Mrs. Easterly’s pastor. Much had she to learn, you will observe! She was more than likely to meet often with people to whom the word “pastor” meant less than any other title—meant, if they took time to analyze their own feelings, one to whom they could be rude, or free, or insultingly inquisitive, without fear of rousing him to resentment, because resentment is not a becoming trait in the ministry!
Dr. Dennis would have smiled could he have known the turmoil in his wife’s heart. He had so long ago passed beyond that—had so long ago decided that people must be ranked in classes—so many from this strip of humanity, who did not know the difference between frankness and rudeness—so many in this strip, who, because of their lack of early education, must not be expected to know certain things—so many in this strip, to whom he could talk, freely, familiarly, as brother to brother, and friend to friend—classified Christians, belonging to the family, indeed, but having such different degrees of likeness to the family name that, what was a matter of course from one, was a sting from another. All these things Dr. Dennis knew; all these things his wife had still to learn. She was willing to learn, and she was not so foolish as to suppose that her road was strewn with roses; but, all the name, the tiny thorn pricked her.
There were other and graver troubles than this. Do you remember how she pleased her fancy, while yet she was an inhabitant of that dingy third-story room, as to the dainty little teas she would get for that young daughter of hers? Here it was, the very perfection of a tea-table, exquisite and delicate and fascinating in all its appointments; laid for three, yet, presently, when Dr. Dennis came from his round of calls, and seated himself opposite his wife, and waited, and then finally sent a messenger to Gracie’s room, who returned with the message, “Miss Grace says will you please excuse her this evening, she doesn’t care for any tea,” his face clouded, as though the answer brought trouble to his heart.
“Have you had further talk with Grace?” he asked his wife, when the door had closed on the servant.
“A little. There have been callers most of the time, but I talked with her a few minutes.”
“What did she say?”