"He is natural enough. It is always the same with parsons: 'it is their
nature to.' Good-night. Men are all the same, my dear, all the same."

"How do you mean?"

"Never mind. Good-night."




CHAPTER V


A little removed from a pretty road in West Kensington, and
communicating with it by a shrubbery and an iron gate, there stood at
this time a detached villa called Laurel Grove. On the opposite side
were pairs of recently built houses, many of them still unlet. These,
without depriving the neighbourhood of its suburban quietude, forbade
any feeling of rustic seclusion, and so made it agreeable to Susanna
Conolly, who lived at Laurel Grove with Marmaduke Lind.

One morning in September they were at breakfast together. Beside each
was a pile of letters. Marmaduke deferred opening his until his hunger
was satisfied; but Susanna, after pouring out tea for him, seized the
uppermost envelope, thrust her little finger under the flap, and burst
it open.

"Hm," she said. "First rehearsal next Monday. Here he is at me again to
make the engagement renewable after Christmas. What an old fool he must