Rogers broke in. "I must say," he exclaimed in a strange shrill voice like a peacock's, "that I associate myself with every word of Canon Foster's. Whatever we may pretend in public, the great desire of our hearts is to drive Brandon out of the place. The sooner we do it the better. It should have been done long ago." Martin spoke. "I'm sorry," he said. "If I had known that this meeting was to be a personal attack on the Archdeacon, I never would have come. I don't think the diocese has a finer servant than Archdeacon Brandon. I admire him immensely. He has made mistakes. So do we all of course. But I have the highest opinion of his character, his work and his importance here, and I would like every one in the room to know that before we go any further." "That's right. That's right," said Ryle, smiling around nervously upon every one. "Canon Martin is right, don't you think? I hope nobody here will say that I have any ill feeling against the Archdeacon. I haven't, indeed, and I shouldn't like any one to charge me with it." Ronder struck in then, and his voice was so strong, so filled with authority, that every one looked up as though some new figure had entered the room. "I should like to emphasise at once," he said, "so that no one here or anywhere else can be under the slightest misapprehension, that I will take part in nothing that has any personal animus towards anybody. Surely this is a question of Pybus and Forsyth and of nothing else at all. I have not even anything against Mr. Forsyth; I have never seen him--I wish him all the luck in life. But we are fighting a battle for the Pybus living and for nothing more nor less than that. "If my own brother wanted that living and was not the right man for it I would fight him. The Archdeacon does not see the thing at present as we do; it is possible that very shortly he may. As soon as he does I'm behind him." Foster shook his head. "Have it your own way," he said. "Everything's the same here--always compromise. Compromise! Compromise! I'm sick of the cowardly word. We'll say no more of Brandon for the moment then. He'll come up again, never fear. He's not the sort of man to avoid spoiling his own soup." "Very good," said Bentinck-Major in his most patronising manner. "Now we are all agreed, I think. You will have noticed that I've been waiting for this moment to suggest that we should come to business. Our business, I believe, is to obtain what support we can against the gift of the living to Mr. Forsyth and to suggest some other candidate...hum, haw...yes, other candidate." "There's only one possible candidate," Foster brought out, banging his lean fist down upon the table near to him. "And that's Wistons of Hawston. It's been the wish of my heart for years back to bring Wistons here. We don't know, of course, if he would come, but I think he could be persuaded. And then--then there'd be hope once more! God would be served! His Church would be a fitting Tabernacle!..."