"My wife came home in a dreadful state," he brayed out at long range.
"Come in," said the Vicar; "come in. Most remarkable occurrence. Please come in. Come into the study. I'm really dreadfully sorry. But when I explain …"
"And apologise, I hope," brayed the Curate.
"And apologise. No, not that way. This way. The study."
"Now what was that woman?" said the Curate, turning on the Vicar as the latter closed the study door.
"What woman?"
"Pah!"
"But really!"
"The painted creature in light attire—disgustingly light attire, to speak freely—with whom you were promenading the garden."
"My dear Mendham—that was an Angel!"
"A very pretty Angel?"
"The world is getting so matter-of-fact," said the Vicar.
"The world," roared the Curate, "grows blacker every day. But to find a man in your position, shamelessly, openly …"
