“You can’t make it less,” Miss Oliver agreed.  “But doctors are terribly skilful nowadays with the knife,” went on Mrs Polsue.  “Very likely this growth, or whatever it is, might have been removed months ago.”

“He ought to be made to undergo an operation.”

“And then, most like, he’d have gone off with the others to be fed at the country’s expense and no housekeeping to worry him, instead of giving Mr Pamphlett trouble.  For he has been giving Mr Pamphlett trouble.  Three times this past week I’ve seen him call at the Bank, and if you tell me ’twas to put money on deposit—­”

“If builder Gilbert is right,” put in Miss Oliver with a sigh of envy, “I shall be able to see the Bank as well as you, when that house comes down:  and I shan’t want to use spectacles neither.”  She cut in with this stroke as the pair joined the small throng of worshippers entering the Chapel porch.  Also she took care to speak the last seven words (as Queen Elizabeth danced) “high and disposedly,” giving her friend no time for a riposte.

The Minister, Mr Hambly, gave his congregation a very short service that morning.  He opened with three sentences from the Book of Common Prayer:  “Rend your heart, and not your garments. . . .  Enter not into judgement with thy servant, O Lord. . . .  If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.”

Then, after a little pause, he gave out the hymn that begins “On earth we now lament to see.” . . .  It had not been sung within those walls in the oldest folks’ remembrance—­nay, since the Chapel had been built; and many were surprised to find it in the book.  But at the second verse they picked up the tune and sang it with a will:—­

“As ’listed on Abaddon’s side,
They mangle their own flesh and slay,
Tophet is moved and opens wide
Its mouth for its enormous prey;
And myriads sink beneath the grave
And plunge into the flaming wave.”

“O might the universal Friend
This havoc of his creatures see!” . . .

They sang it lustily to the end.  With a gesture of the hand Mr Hambly bade all to kneel, opened the Book of Common Prayer again, and instead of “putting up” an extempore prayer, recited that old one prescribed for use “In the Time of War and Tumults":—­

“O Almighty God, King of all kings, and Governour of all things, whose power no creature is able to resist, . . .  Save and deliver us, we humbly beseech thee, from the hands of our enemies; abate their pride, asswage their malice, and confound their devices; that we, being armed with thy defence, may be preserved evermore from all perils, to glorify thee, who art the only giver of all victory;” . . .

The voice, though creaking in tone and uttering borrowed words, impressed many among its audience with its accent of personal sincerity.  Mrs Polsue knelt and listened with a gathering choler.  This Hambly had no unction.  He could never improve an occasion:  the more opportunity it gave the more helplessly he fell back upon old formulae composed by Anglicans long ago.  She had often enough resented the Minister’s dependence on these out-of-date phrases, written (as like as not) by men in secret sympathy with the Mass.