Part 7 (1/2)
”No,” she said, simply; ”I haven't told Gerald any thing about you, only your name. She will find it all out for herself so much better than I can tell her.”
”I am afraid I am not very good at finding people out,” remarked Gerald, bluntly, ”unless I am extraordinarily interested in them--”
”Which I imagine you generally are not,” interrupted Denham.
”True,” she answered, smiling a little, ”which I generally am not; I am content with a very superficial knowledge. The world is crowded so full, where could one stop who set out to know thoroughly all he met?”
”It is a bitter thought that you will never know more of me than just the color of my beard,” said Denham, reflectively, ”but if such is your habit I suppose I must resign myself to it. Now, I am exactly the reverse from you; I am always extraordinarily interested in everybody.”
”Ah, because as a clergyman you must be.”
”No; simply because it happens to be my nature. One has one's individual characteristics, you know, quite independently of one's profession.”
”Yes, in other professions; but in yours--”
”But we are men first, Miss Vernor, afterward clergymen. Why may we not keep our distinct idiosyncrasies, even in our clerical uniform?”
Gerald slashed her dress gently with her riding whip. ”It seems to me as if you should all be clergymen first and men afterward, fitting yourselves to the profession rather than the profession to you; and so by all confessedly following one pattern, you would be necessarily drawn into a greater similitude with each other than any other cla.s.s of men.
Ah, here is Mr. De Forest at last.”
”At last?” repeated that gentleman as he joined the group, or rather paused just beyond it, surveying Gerald with a critical glance which seemed to take in accurately at one swift sweep every least detail of her dress. ”My watch stands at the minute, Miss Vernor.”
”And here come the horses,” added Phebe.
”Not much to boast of,” said De Forest, turning the severe criticism of his look upon the animals as the boy brought them up. ”I wouldn't let you be seen in Central Park with them. However, they are the best Joppa can do for us. They are not very good-natured brutes either, but I believe you look to a horse's hoofs rather than his head.”
”I do, decidedly,” laughed Gerald, as De Forest raised her deftly to the saddle and arranged bridle and girths to her liking, turning to tighten his own before mounting, and kicking away a small dog that had run up to sniff at his heels.
”What did you bring along this ugly little beast of yours for, Jim? I abhor curs.”
”Tain't none of mine, Mister,” said the stable-boy, grinning. ”It's one of them street dogs that ain't n.o.body's.” And he in his turn gave a push to the puppy, while Gerald leaned down and hit at it lightly with her whip.
”Get away, my friend. There isn't room both for you and for us here,” she said, turning her horse toward it playfully as the little creature slunk aside. In another instant her horse kicked violently, there was a single sharp yelp, and the dog lay motionless in the road.
”Hi!” exclaimed Jim, quite in accents of admiration, as he ran up and bent over the poor thing. ”That was a good un! Right on the head! He won't trouble any other genelman again, I'm thinking.”
”What!” cried Gerald, sharply. ”You don't mean the dog is dead?”
”Don't I?” said the boy, moving a little aside so that she should see.
”That was a neat un and no mistake.”
Gerald looked down with a cry of horror; then suddenly sprang from her horse and caught up the poor little limp animal in her arms.
”Take away the horse,” she said to the boy, imperiously. ”I shall not ride to-day.”
”But, Miss Vernor!” expostulated De Forest, ”for heaven's sake don't take it so to heart. It's unfortunate, of course, but no one is to blame.
Do put the thing down. It's dead. You can't do any thing more for it.”
”I know it,” said Gerald. ”I did all I could; I killed him. But you'll have to excuse me, Mr. De Forest, I can't ride.”