"Just what your uncle told you. More used Greek words which
signified nothing, in order to veil the satire."
"Oh, a satire! Now, what is the reason you could not say it was a
satire, you wiseacre?"
"Because I gave you credit for some penetration, and at least common
sense."
"Both of which I have proved myself devoid of, I suppose? Thank
you." She threw her arms round his neck, kissed him once or twice,
and laughingly added: "Come now, Uncle Guy, tell me what these
'phalanxes,' as you call them, have to do with Ernest's text?"
"I really cannot inform you. There is the dinner bell." Unclasping
her arms, he led the way to the dining room.
Later in the afternoon Mr. Lockhart retired to his own room; his
wife fell asleep on the sofa, and Beulah and Pauline sat at the
parlor window, discussing the various occurrences of their long
separation. Pauline talked of her future--how bright it was; how
very much she and Ernest loved each other, and how busy she would be
when she had a home of her own. She supposed she would be obliged to
give up dancing; she had an indistinct idea that preachers' wives
were not in the habit of indulging in any such amusements, and, as
for the theater and opera, she rather doubted whether either were to
be found in the inland town where she was to reside. Uncle Guy
wished to furnish the parsonage, and, among other things, had
ordered an elegant piano for her; she intended to practice a great
deal, because Ernest was so fond of music. Uncle Guy had a hateful
habit of lecturing her about "domestic affairs," but she imagined
the cook would understand her own business; and if Mr. Mortimor
supposed she was going to play housemaid, why, she would very soon
undeceive him. Beulah was much amused at the childlike simplicity
with which she discussed her future, and began to think the whole
affair rather ludicrous, when Pauline started, and exclaimed, as the
blood dyed her cheeks: "There is Ernest coming up the walk!"
He came in, and greeted her with gentle gravity. He was a dignified,
fine-looking man, with polished manners and perfect self-possession.
There was no trace of austerity in his countenance, and nothing in
his conversation betokening a desire to impress strangers with his
ministerial dignity. He was highly cultivated in all his tastes,
agreeable, and, in fine, a Christian gentleman. Pauline seemed to
consider his remarks oracular, and Beulah could not forbear
contrasting her quietness in his presence with the wild, frolicsome
recklessness which characterized her manner on other occasions. She
wondered what singular freak induced this staid, learned clergyman
to select a companion so absolutely antagonistic in every element of
character. But a glance at Pauline's perfectly beautiful face
explained the mystery. How could anyone help loving her, she was so
radiant and so winning in her unaffected artlessness?