She saw
it with something like pain, which struggled through her
pride in both. "And then, you know--your calling--"
"I suppose it is that," he replied, ill content.
"I've noticed Dr Drummond's way," she told him, with
rising spirits. "It's delightful. He drops the 'Mr' with
fellow-ministers of his own denomination only--never with
Wesleyans or Baptists, for a moment. He always comes back
very genial from the General Assembly, and full of stories.
'I said to Grant,' or 'Macdonald said to me'--and he
always calls you 'Finlay,'" she added shyly. "By the way,
I suppose you know he's to be the new Moderator?"
"Is he, indeed? Yes--yes, of course, I knew! We couldn't
have a better."
They walked on through the early autumn night. It was
just not raining. The damp air was cool and pungent with
the smell of fallen leaves, which lay thick under their
feet. Advena speared the dropped horse chestnut husks
with the point of her umbrella as they went along. She
had picked up half a dozen when he spoke again. "I want
to tell you--I have to tell you--something--about myself,
Miss Murchison."
"I should like," said Advena steadily, "to hear."
"It is a matter that has, I am ashamed to confess,
curiously gone out of my mind of late--I should say until
lately. There was little until lately--I am so poor a
letter writer--to remind me of it.
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