When the three men came to the turning at the corner of the Grosvenor Hotel, Chichester stopped short.

“Here is our way,” he said, speaking across Mr. Harding to Malling.

The rector looked at Malling.

“Have you far to go?” he asked, with rather a tentative air.

“I live in Cadogan Square.”

“Of course.  I remember.  You told us you were going there.”

“Good-by,” said Chichester.  “We are taking the underground to South
Kensington.”

“I think I shall walk,” said the rector.

“But you know we are due—­”

“There is plenty of time.  Tell them I shall be there at four.”

“But really—­”

“Punctually at four.  I will walk on with Mr. Malling.”

“I really think you had better not,” began Chichester.  “Over-exertion—­”

“Am I an invalid?” exclaimed Mr. Harding, almost sharply.

“No, no, of course not.  But you remember that yesterday you were not quite well.”

“That is the very reason why I wish to walk.  Exercise always does my dyspepsia good.”

“Let us all walk,” said the curate, abruptly.

But this was obviously not Mr. Harding’s intention.

“I want you to go through the minutes and the accounts before the meeting,” he said, in a quieter but decisive voice.  “We will meet at the School at four.  You will have plenty of time if you take the train.  And meanwhile Mr. Malling and I will go on foot together as far as Cadogan Square.”

Chichester stood for a moment staring into Mr. Harding’s face, then he said, almost sulkily: 

“Very well.  Good-by.”

He turned on his heel, and was lost in the throng near the station.

It seemed to Malling that an expression of relief overspread his companion’s face.

“You don’t mind my company for a little longer, I hope?” said the rector.

“I shall be glad to have it.”

They set out on their walk to Cadogan Square.  After two or three minutes of silence the rector remarked: 

“You know Chichester well?”

“I can hardly say that.  I used to meet him sometimes with some friends of mine, the Crespignys.  But I haven’t seen him for more than two years.”

“He’s a very good fellow.”

“An excellent fellow.”

“Perhaps a little bit limited in his outlook.  He has been with me at St. Joseph’s exactly two years.”

The rector seemed about to say more, then shut his large mouth almost with a snap.  Malling made no remark.  He was quite certain that snap was merely the preliminary to some further remark about Chichester.  And so it proved.  As they came to St. Peter’s Eaton Square, the rector resumed: 

“I often think that it is a man’s limitations which make him critical of others.  The more one knows, the wider one’s outlook, the readier one is to shut one’s eyes to the foibles, even to the faults, of one’s neighbors.  I have tried to impress that upon our friend Chichester.”