We Two [12]
these persecutions are over, we are going to have a beautiful tour, and see all sorts of places. But I don't know when they will be over. As soon as one bigot--" she broke off suddenly, with a stifled exclamation of dismay.
Charles Osmond, in the dim light, with his long gray beard, had not betrayed his clerical dress; but, glancing round at him now, she saw at once that the stranger to whom she had spoken so unreservedly was by no means one of her father's followers.
"Well!" he said, smiling, half understanding her confusion.
"You are a clergyman!" she almost gasped.
"Yes, why not?"
"I beg your pardon, I never thought--you seemed so much too--"
"Too what?"urged Charles Osmond. Then, as she still hesitated, "Now, you must really let me hear the end of that sentence, or I shall imagine everything dreadful."
"Too nice," murmured Erica, wishing that she could sink through the floor.
But the confession so tickled Charles Osmond that he laughed aloud, and his laughter was so infectious that Erica, in spite of her confusion, could not help joining in it. She had a very keen sense of the ludicrous, and the position was undoubtedly a laughable one; still there were certain appalling recollections of the past conversation which soon made her serious again. She had talked of persecutions to one who was, at any rate, on the side of persecutors; had alluded to bigots, and, worst of all, had spoken in no measured terms of "tiresome Christians."
She turned, rather shyly, and yet with a touch of dignity, to her visitor, and said:
"It was very careless of me not to notice more, but it was dark, and I am not used to seeing any but our own people here. I am afraid I said things which must have hurt you; I wish you had stopped me."
The beautiful color had spread and deepened in her cheeks, and there was something indescribably sweet and considerate in her tone of apology. Charles Osmond was touched by it.
"It is I who should apologize," he said. "I am not at all sure that I was justified in sitting there quietly, knowing that you were under a delusion; but it is always very delightful to me in this artificial world to meet any one who talks quite naturally, and the interest of hearing your view of the question kept me silent. You must forgive me, and as you know I am too nice to be a clergyman--"
"Oh, I beg your pardon. How rude I have been," cried Erica, blushing anew; "but you did make me say it."
"Of course, and I take it as a high compliment from you," said Charles Osmond, laughing again at the recollection. "Come, may we not seal our friendship? We have been sufficiently frank with each other to be something more than acquaintances for the future."
Erica held out her hand and found it taken in a strong, firm clasp, which somehow conveyed much more than an ordinary handshake.
"And, after all, you ARE too nice for a clergyman!" she thought to herself. Then, as a fresh idea crossed her mind, she suddenly exclaimed: "But you came to tell us about Mr. Randolph's roughs, did you not? How came you to care that we should know beforehand?"
"Why, naturally I hoped that a disturbance might be stopped."
"Is it natural?" questioned Erica. "I should have thought it more natural for you to think with your own party."
"But peace and justice and freedom of speech must all stand before party questions."
"Yet you think that we are wrong, and that Christianity is right?"
"Yes, but to my mind perfect justice is part of Christianity."
"Oh," said Erica, in a tone which meant unutterable things.
"You think that Christians do not show perfect justice to you?" said Charles Osmond, reading her thoughts.
"I can't say I think they do," she replied. Then, suddenly firing up at the recollection of her afternoon's experiences, she said: "They are not just to us, though they preach justice; they are not loving, though they talk about love. If they want us to think their religion true, I wonder they don't practice it a little more and preach it less. What is the use of talking of
Charles Osmond, in the dim light, with his long gray beard, had not betrayed his clerical dress; but, glancing round at him now, she saw at once that the stranger to whom she had spoken so unreservedly was by no means one of her father's followers.
"Well!" he said, smiling, half understanding her confusion.
"You are a clergyman!" she almost gasped.
"Yes, why not?"
"I beg your pardon, I never thought--you seemed so much too--"
"Too what?"urged Charles Osmond. Then, as she still hesitated, "Now, you must really let me hear the end of that sentence, or I shall imagine everything dreadful."
"Too nice," murmured Erica, wishing that she could sink through the floor.
But the confession so tickled Charles Osmond that he laughed aloud, and his laughter was so infectious that Erica, in spite of her confusion, could not help joining in it. She had a very keen sense of the ludicrous, and the position was undoubtedly a laughable one; still there were certain appalling recollections of the past conversation which soon made her serious again. She had talked of persecutions to one who was, at any rate, on the side of persecutors; had alluded to bigots, and, worst of all, had spoken in no measured terms of "tiresome Christians."
She turned, rather shyly, and yet with a touch of dignity, to her visitor, and said:
"It was very careless of me not to notice more, but it was dark, and I am not used to seeing any but our own people here. I am afraid I said things which must have hurt you; I wish you had stopped me."
The beautiful color had spread and deepened in her cheeks, and there was something indescribably sweet and considerate in her tone of apology. Charles Osmond was touched by it.
"It is I who should apologize," he said. "I am not at all sure that I was justified in sitting there quietly, knowing that you were under a delusion; but it is always very delightful to me in this artificial world to meet any one who talks quite naturally, and the interest of hearing your view of the question kept me silent. You must forgive me, and as you know I am too nice to be a clergyman--"
"Oh, I beg your pardon. How rude I have been," cried Erica, blushing anew; "but you did make me say it."
"Of course, and I take it as a high compliment from you," said Charles Osmond, laughing again at the recollection. "Come, may we not seal our friendship? We have been sufficiently frank with each other to be something more than acquaintances for the future."
Erica held out her hand and found it taken in a strong, firm clasp, which somehow conveyed much more than an ordinary handshake.
"And, after all, you ARE too nice for a clergyman!" she thought to herself. Then, as a fresh idea crossed her mind, she suddenly exclaimed: "But you came to tell us about Mr. Randolph's roughs, did you not? How came you to care that we should know beforehand?"
"Why, naturally I hoped that a disturbance might be stopped."
"Is it natural?" questioned Erica. "I should have thought it more natural for you to think with your own party."
"But peace and justice and freedom of speech must all stand before party questions."
"Yet you think that we are wrong, and that Christianity is right?"
"Yes, but to my mind perfect justice is part of Christianity."
"Oh," said Erica, in a tone which meant unutterable things.
"You think that Christians do not show perfect justice to you?" said Charles Osmond, reading her thoughts.
"I can't say I think they do," she replied. Then, suddenly firing up at the recollection of her afternoon's experiences, she said: "They are not just to us, though they preach justice; they are not loving, though they talk about love. If they want us to think their religion true, I wonder they don't practice it a little more and preach it less. What is the use of talking of