Mrs. Combermere smacked her knee. "I may be wrong. I often am. I take prejudices, I know. Secondly, he's fat and soft--too like the typical parson." "It's an assumed disguise--however, go on." "Third, I hear he agrees with everything one says." "You hear? You've not talked to him yourself, then?" Mrs. Combermere raised her head as the door opened and the tea came in. "No. I've only seen him in Cathedral. But I've called, and he's coming to- day." Miss Stiles smiled in her own dark and mysterious way. "Well, Betsy, my dear, I leave you to find it all out for yourself.... I keep my secrets." "If you do," said Mrs. Combermere, getting up and going to the tea-table, "it's the first time you ever have. _And_ Ellen," she went on, "I've a bone to pick. I won't have you laughing at my dear Archdeacon." "Laughing at your Archdeacon?" Miss Stiles' voice was softer and slower than any complaining cow's. "Yes. I hear you've all been laughing about the elephant. That was a thing that might have happened to any one." Puddifoot laughed. "The point is, though, that it happened to Brandon. That's the joke. _And_ his new top hat." "Well, I won't have it. Milk, doctor? Miss Dobell and I agree that it's a shame." Miss Dobell, who was in appearance like one of those neat silk umbrellas with the head of a parrot for a handle, and whose voice was like the running brook both for melody and monotony, thus suddenly appealed to, blushed, stammered, and finally admitted that the Archdeacon was, in her opinion, a hero. "That's not exactly the point, dear Mary," said Miss Stiles. "The point is, surely, that an elephant straight from the desert ate our best Archdeacon's best hat in the High Street. You must admit that that's a laughable circumstance in this the sixtieth year of our good Queen's reign. I, for one, intend to laugh." "No, you don't, Ellen," and, to every one's surprise, Mrs. Combermere's voice was serious. "I mean what I say. I'm not joking at all. Brandon may have his faults, but this town and everything decent in it hangs by him. Take him away and the place drops to pieces. I suppose you think you're going to introduce your Ronders as up-to-date rivals. We prefer things as they are, thank you." Miss Stiles' already bright colouring was a little brighter. She knew her Betsy Combermere, but she resented rebukes before Puddifoot. "Then," she said, "if he means all that to the place, he'd better look after his son more efficiently." "_And_ exactly what do you mean by that?" asked Mrs. Combermere. "Oh, everybody knows," said Miss Stiles, looking round to Miss Dobell and the doctor for support, "that young Brandon is spending the whole of his time down in Seatown, and that Miss Annie Hogg is not entirely unconnected with his visits."