contented clergyman who might be baffled by a school treat but was
thoroughly "up" to afternoon tea. He seemed a little stouter than when he
had first come to Polchester, and his large spectacles were as round as
two young moons.

"How do you do, Mrs. Combernere? I do hope you will forgive my aunt, but
she has a bad headache. She finds Polchester a little relaxing."

Mrs. Combermere did not get up, but stared at him from, behind her tea-
table. That was a stare that has frightened many people in its time, and
to-day it was especially challenging. She was annoyed with Ellen Stiles,
and here, in front of her, was the cause of her annoyance.

They faced one another, and the room behind them was aware that Mrs.
Combermere, at any rate, had declared battle. Of what Ronder was aware no
one knew.

"How do you do, Canon Ronder? I'm delighted that you've honoured my poor
little house. I hear that you're a busy man. I'm all the more proud that
you can spare me half an hour."

She kept him standing there, hoping, perhaps, that he would be consciously
awkward and embarrassed. He was completely at his ease.

"Oh, no, I'm not busy. I'm a very lazy man." He looked down at her,
smiling, aware, apparently, of no one else in the room. "I'm always
meaning to pull myself up. But I'm too old for improvement"

"We're all busy people here, although you mayn't think it, Canon Ronder.
But I'm afraid you're giving a false account of yourself. I've heard of