"Well, what did you think of Dr.Ledsmar?"The girl's abrupt question came as a relief to Theron.
They were walking along in a darkness so nearly complete that he could see next to nothing of his companion.
For some reason, this seemed to suggest a sort of impropriety.
He had listened to the footsteps of the man ahead--whom he guessed to be a servant--and pictured him as intent upon getting up early next morning to tell everybody that the Methodist minister had stolen into the Catholic church at night to walk home with Miss Madden.
That was going to be very awkward--yes, worse than awkward!
It might mean ruin itself.She had mentioned aloud that she had matters to talk over with him:
that of course implied confidences, and the man might put heaven only knew what construction on that.
It was notorious that servants did ascribe the very worst motives to those they worked for.The bare thought of the delight an Irish servant would have in also dragging a Protestant clergyman into the thing was sickening.
And what could she want to talk to him about, anyway?
The minute of silence stretched itself out upon his nerves into an interminable period of anxious unhappiness.
Her mention of the doctor at last somehow, seemed to lighten the situation.
"Oh, I thought he was very smart." he made haste to answer.
"Wouldn't it be better--to--keep close to your man?
He--may--think we've gone some other way.""It wouldn't matter if he did," remarked Celia.
She appeared to comprehend his nervousness and take pity on it, for she added, "It is my brother Michael, as good a soul as ever lived.He is quite used to my ways."The Rev.Mr.Ware drew a long comforting breath.
"Oh, I see! He went with you to--bring you home.""To blow the organ," said the girl in the dark, correctingly.
"But about that doctor; did you like him?""Well," Theron began, "'like' is rather a strong word for so short an acquaintance.He talked very well;that is, fluently.But he is so different from any other man I have come into contact with that--""What I wanted you to say was that you hated him,"put in Celia, firmly.
"I don't make a practice of saying that of anybody,"returned Theron, so much at his ease again that he put an effect of gentle, smiling reproof into the words.
"And why specially should I make an exception for him?""Because he's a beast!"
Theron fancied that he understood."I noticed that he seemed not to have much of an ear for music," he commented, with a little laugh."He shut down the window when you began to play.His doing so annoyed me, because I--I wanted very much to hear it all.I never heard such music before.I--I came into the church to hear more of it;but then you stopped!"
"I will play for you some other time," Celia said, answering the reproach in his tone."But tonight I wanted to talk with you instead."She kept silent, in spite of this, so long now that Theron was on the point of jestingly asking when the talk was to begin.Then she put a question abruptly--"It is a conventional way of putting it, but are you fond of poetry, Mr.Ware?""Well, yes, I suppose I am," replied Theron, much mystified.
"I can't say that I am any great judge; but I like the things that I like--and--""Meredith," interposed Celia, "makes one of his women, Emilia in England, say that poetry is like talking on tiptoe;like animals in cages, always going to one end and back again.
Does it impress you that way?"
"I don't know that it does," said he, dubiously.
It seemed, however, to be her whim to talk literature, and he went on: "I've hardly read Meredith at all.
I once borrowed his 'Lucile,' but somehow I never got interested in it.I heard a recitation of his once, though--a piece about a dead wife, and the husband and another man quarrelling as to whose portrait was in the locket on her neck, and of their going up to settle the dispute, and finding that it was the likeness of a third man, a young priest--and though it was very striking, it didn't give me a thirst to know his other poems.
I fancied I shouldn't like them.But I daresay I was wrong.
As I get older, I find that I take less narrow views of literature--that is, of course, of light literature--and that--that--"
Celia mercifully stopped him."The reason I asked you was--" she began, and then herself paused."Or no,--never mind that--tell me something else.Are you fond of pictures, statuary, the beautiful things of the world?
Do great works of art, the big achievements of the big artists, appeal to you, stir you up?""Alas! that is something I can only guess at myself,"answered Theron, humbly."I have always lived in little places.I suppose, from your point of view, I have never seen a good painting in my life.I can only say this, though--that it has always weighed on my mind as a great and sore deprivation, this being shut out from knowing what others mean when they talk and write about art.
Perhaps that may help you to get at what you are after.
If I ever went to New York, I feel that one of the first things I should do would be to see all the picture galleries;is that what you meant? And--would you mind telling me--why you--?"
"Why I asked you?" Celia supplied his halting question.
"No, I DON'T mind.I have a reason for wanting to know--to satisfy myself whether I had guessed rightly or not--about the kind of man you are.I mean in the matter of temperament and bent of mind and tastes."The girl seemed to be speaking seriously, and without intent to offend.Theron did not find any comment ready, but walked along by her side, wondering much what it was all about.
"I daresay you think me 'too familiar on short acquaintance,'"she continued, after a little.
"My dear Miss Madden!" he protested perfunctorily.
"No; it is a matter of a good deal of importance,"she went on."I can see that you are going to be thrown into friendship, close contact, with Father Forbes.
He likes you, and you can't help liking him.There is nobody else in this raw, overgrown, empty-headed place for you and him TO like, nobody except that man, that Dr.Ledsmar.
