Mandeville Poreham, marshalling her five marriageable daughters together, stalked magisterially to her private ’bus, very much en evidence, and considerably put out by the supercilious gaze and smile of the perfectly costumed Mrs. Bludlip Courtenay,—­Julian Adderley, coming up in response to the beckoning finger of Cicely Bourne, was kindly greeted by Maryllia, introduced to one or two of her friends, and asked then and there to luncheon, an invitation he accepted with alacrity, and, after this, all the Manor party started with their hostess to walk home, leaving the village and villagers behind them, and discussing as they went, the morning’s service and sermon in the usual brief and desultory style common to fashionable church-goers.  The principal impression they appeared to have on their minds was one of vague amusement.  The notion that any clergyman should have the ’impudence’—­(this was the word used by Mrs. Bludlip Courtenay)—­to pause in the service because people came in late, touched the very apex of absurdity.

“So against his own interests too,”—­said Lady Beaulyon, carelessly--"Because where would all the parsons be if they offended their patrons?”

Mr. Bludlip Courtenay, a thin gentleman with a monocle—­assented to this proposition with a “Where indeed!” He considered that clergymen should not forget themselves,—­they should show proper respect towards those on whom they depended for support.

“Mr. Walden depends on God for support, I believe,”—­said Cicely Bourne suddenly.

Mr. Bludlip Courtenay fixed his monocle firmly in his left eye and stared at her.

“Really!” he drawled dubiously—­“You surprise me!”

“It is funny, isn’t it?” pursued Cicely—­“So unlike the Apostles!”

Maryllia smiled.  Lady Beaulyon laughed outright.

“Are you trying to be satirical, you droll child?” she enquired languidly.

“Oh no, I’m not trying,”—­replied Cicely, with a quick flash of her dark eyes—­“It comes quite easy!  You were talking about clergymen offending their patrons.  Now Mr. Walden hasn’t got any patron to offend.  He’s his own patron.”  “Has he purchased the advowson, then?” enquired Mr. Courtenay—­“Or, to put it more conventionally, has he obtained it through a friend at court?”

“I don’t know anything about the how or the why or the when,”—­said Cicely—­“But I know he owns the living and the church.  So of course if he chooses to show people what he thinks of them when they come in to service late, he can do it.  If they don’t like it, he doesn’t care.  He doesn’t ask anybody for anything,—­he doesn’t even send round a collection plate.”

“No—­I noticed that!—­awfully jolly!”—­said a good-natured looking man who had been walking beside Julian Adderley,—­a certain Lord Charlemont whose one joy in life was motoring—­“Awfully game!  Ought to make him quite famous!”

“It ought,—­it ought indeed!” agreed Adderley—­“I do not suppose there is another clergyman in England who obliterates the plate from the worship of the Almighty!  It is so remote—­so very remote!”