He sat down by Malling and stared into his face.

"Did you--did you stay for the sermon?"

"Certainly. I came for the sermon. I had never heard Mr. Harding preach."

"No? No? Well, what did you think of it? What did you think of it?"

The curate spoke nervously, and seemed to Malling to be regarding him
with furtive anxiety.

"It was obvious that Mr. Harding wasn't in good form this morning,"
Malling said. "He explained the matter after lunch."

"He _explained_ the matter!" said Chichester, with a rising voice, in
which there was an almost shrill note of suspicion.

"Yes. He told me he was often the victim of nervous dyspepsia, and that
he had an attack of it while in the pulpit this morning."

"He told you it was nervous dyspepsia!"

"I have just said so."

The curate looked down.

"I advised him not to walk all the way home yesterday," he said gloomily.
"You heard me."