turned round, they had been leaning amicably above the river.

No, it could not be that. He sought mentally for some other reason. But
while he did so he talked, and endeavored to rid himself promptly of the
unwelcome feeling that beset him.

In this effort, however, he did not at first succeed. The "conditions"
were evidently unsatisfactory. He wondered whether if he were not walking
between the two men he would feel more comfortable, and presently, at a
crossing, he managed to change his place. He was now next to Mr. Harding,
who had the curate on his other side, and at once he felt more at his
ease. The rector of St. Joseph's led the conversation, in which Malling
joined, and at first the curate was silent. But presently Malling noticed
a thing that struck him as odd. Chichester began to "chip in" now and
then, and whenever he did so it was either to modify what Mr. Harding
had just said, or to check him in what he was saying, or abruptly to
introduce a new topic of talk. Sometimes Mr. Harding did not appear to
notice these interruptions; at other times he obviously resented them;
at others again he yielded with an air of anxiety, almost of fear, to
his curate's attenuations or hastened to follow his somewhat surprising
leads down new conversational paths. Malling could not understand
Chichester. But it became evident to him that for some reason or other
the curate was painfully critical of his rector, as sometimes highly
sensitive people are critical of members of their own family. And Mr.
Harding was certainly aware of this critical attitude, and at moments
seemed to be defiant of it, at other moments to be almost terrorized
by it.

All that passed, be it noted, passed as between gentlemen, rather
glided in the form of nuance than trampled heavily in more blatant