“Yes, I remember; but this plan is a looking toward the future. I didn’t think it wise to refuse.”
Mary said nothing, but went out, returning presently with two lighted candles. Bertrand was replenishing the fire. Had he been looking at her face with the light of the candles on it as she carried them, he would have noticed that little smile about her lips.
“I’m very glad we brought the bees in yesterday,” he said. “This storm would have made it impossible to do it to-day, and we should have lost them.”
“How about those lectures, dear? The ‘boys’ are all gone now, and you won’t have them to take up your time evenings, so you can easily prepare them. They will take you into the city now and then, and that will keep you in touch with the world outside this village.” Bertrand had been requested to give a series of lectures on art in one of the colleges in the city. He had been well pleased and had accepted, but later had refused because of certain dictatorship exercised by the Board, which he felt infringed on his province of a suitable selection of subjects. He was silent for a moment. Again Mary had irrelevantly and abruptly changed the subject of conversation. Where was the connection between bees and lectures? “I really wish you would, dear,” urged Mary.
“You still wish it after the affront the Board has given me?”
“I know, but what do they know about art? I would give the lectures if it was only to be able––incidentally––to teach them something. Be a little conciliatory, dear.”
“I will make no concessions. If I give the lectures, I must be allowed to select my courses. It is my province.”
“Did you see Elder Craigmile about it?”