“Do you know,” he said ruefully one day to Mary, “that the Duke makes me conscious of my boots, and the lack of trees to keep them on? I never thought of it before, but I am sure now that it has been a serious omission.”
“The Duke is the descendant of generations of dandies, and has all the faults and the good qualities that belong to the class. In many respects the dandy is a limited person both for good and evil; certain social solecisms are, of course, impossible to him, but he generally is lacking in imagination. The Duke, for instance, is less sympathetic than Wiggins, but he is harder on himself also.”
“Can a woman be a dandy?” inquired the minister in a tone of grave interest.
Mary laughed. “Every woman of the world is more or less a dandy, but she takes the position less seriously than does a man. If in some directions our sense of proportion is undeveloped, it has arrived at perfection in matters of clothes.”
“I’m glad I can only wear one sort of clothes; it saves so much trouble, and I should be certain to get the wrong ones.”
“I think you would. Be thankful for your uniform; it is becoming!”
“It’s very hot and uncomfortable in summer. I almost feel I could echo Wiggins in his abuse of clothing.”
“I do for tennis, but one can’t call on one’s parishioners in flannels; they’d think it casual and disrespectful.”
“So they would. Well, you must dree your weird!” Mary spoke lightly, but for the minister her last words had an ominous sound.
Presently they all halted “to give the bicycles a feed” as the Duke put it--the fact being that they had arrived at the foot of what was for Fife a very steep hill. The day was hot, and they had six more miles to do before they reached the East Neuk, whither they were escorting the Duke. Grass and the shade of trees looked inviting. Mary and the minister decided to rest, but the energetic Duke went off on an exploring expedition in an adjacent wood.
The minister and Mary sat quite silent for some minutes; then Mary said slowly:
“Mrs. Urquhart told you of my great trouble six years ago. I am glad. I wanted you to know, and I wanted you to know that I am glad.” Her voice was very soft, her eyes were bent on the grass.
Andrew Methven looked at her but he did not speak.