Both men were fairly advanced in years and old for their age, for they had both worked hard and constantly for many years on the mission.  They had to be up early and to bed late, with the short night frequently interrupted by sick calls, and on a Sunday morning they had always fasted till one o’clock, and usually preached two or even three times on the same day.  They had never known for very many years what it was to be without serious anxiety on the matter of finance.  Their lives had been models of amazing regularity and self-control.  Their recreations consisted chiefly in dining with each other at mid-day on Mondays, and spending the afternoon with whist and music.  Probably, too, they had dined with a leading parishioner once or twice in the week.

In politics they were mildly Liberal, more warmly Home Rulers, but they put above all the interests of the Church.  They were, too, fierce partisans on the controversies about Church music, and had a zeal for the beauty and order of their respective churches that was admirable in its minuteness and its perseverance.  They both had a large circle of friends with whom they rejoiced at annual festivities at their Colleges, and with whom they habitually and freely censured their immediate authorities.  Those who were warmest in their devotion to the Vatican were often the most inclined to make a scapegoat of a mere bishop.  But now one of these two old friends had been made Vicar-General of the diocese, and it was likely that the Rector would speak to him with less than his usual freedom.  Lastly, both men had that air of complete knowledge of life which comes with the habits of a circle of people who know each other intimately.  And neither of them realised in the least that the minds of the educated laity were a shut book to them.

“Well,” said the Rector, and after puffing at his pipe he went on, “we can hardly get into the church for the crowd, and I am going to put up a notice to ask ladies to wear small hats—­toques; isn’t that what they call them?”

“I heard him once,” said the Vicar-General, “and, to tell the truth, it didn’t seem up to much.”

“Words,” said the Rector; “it’s Oxford all over.  There must be a new word for everything.  Why, he preached on Our Lady the other day, and I declare I don’t think there were three sentences I’d ever heard before!  And on Our Lady, too!  A man must be gone on novelty who wants to find anything new to say about Our Lady.”

“It doesn’t warm me up a bit, that sort of thing,” said the Vicar-General.  “I like to hear the things I’ve heard all my life.”

“Of course,” responded the other, “but you won’t get that from our popular preachers, I can tell you,” and he laughed with some sarcasm.

“Is he making converts?”

“Too many, far too many; that’s just what I complain of.  We shall have a nice name for relapses here if it goes on like this.”

Both men paused.