Thus on an evening toward the end of June he talked to her about love
and the married state. It had been raining all day long, and though no
rain fell at the moment, one felt that more was coming. The air was
saturated with moisture; heavy odors of sodden vegetation crept
through the open window; and one saw a mist like steam beginning to
rise from the fields beyond the roadway. Mr. Furnival, the new pastor,
had just passed by; and it was his appearance that started the
conversation.
"He is a conscientious talented young man," said Dale; "and with
experience he will ripen. At present he seems to me deficient in
sympathy."
"Yes, so he does," said Norah, as she opened the desk drawer.
"He hasn't the knack of putting himself in the place of other people.
There's something cold and cheerless in his preaching--I don't say as
if he didn't feel it all himself, but as if he hadn't yet caught the
knack of imparting his feelings to others."
"No more he has," said Norah, putting away her papers.
"Between you and me and the post," said Dale, "I don't like him."
"No more do I."
"What! Don't you like Mr. Furnival either?"
Norah shook her head and said "No" emphatically.
"But he is handsome, Norah.
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