"Really, Ellen," said Mrs. Combermere, bringing her fist down upon the table, "you're a disgusting woman. Yes, you are, and I won't take it back, however much you ask me to. All the worst scandal in this place comes from you. If it weren't for you we shouldn't be so exactly like every novelist's Cathedral town. But I warn you, I won't have you talking about Brandon. His son's only a boy, and the handsomest male in the place by the way--present company, of course, excepted. He's only been home a few months, and you're after him already with your stories. I won't have it----" Miss Stiles rose, her fingers trembling as she drew on her gloves. "Well, I won't stay here to be insulted, anyway. You may have known me a number of years, Betsy, but that doesn't allow you _all_ the privileges. The only matter with me is that I say what I think. You started the business, I believe, by insulting my friends." "Sit down, Ellen," said Mrs. Combermere, laughing. "Don't be a fool. Who's insulting your friends? You'd insult them yourself if they were only successful enough. You can have your Ronder." The door opened and the maid announced: "Canon Ronder." Every one was conscious of the dramatic fitness of this, and no one more so than Mrs. Combermere. Ronder entered the room, however, quite unaware of anything apparently, except that he was feeling very well and expected amusement from his company. He presented precisely the picture of a nice contented clergyman who might be baffled by a school treat but was thoroughly "up" to afternoon tea. He seemed a little stouter than when he had first come to Polchester, and his large spectacles were as round as two young moons. "How do you do, Mrs. Combernere? I do hope you will forgive my aunt, but she has a bad headache. She finds Polchester a little relaxing." Mrs. Combermere did not get up, but stared at him from, behind her tea- table. That was a stare that has frightened many people in its time, and to-day it was especially challenging. She was annoyed with Ellen Stiles, and here, in front of her, was the cause of her annoyance. They faced one another, and the room behind them was aware that Mrs. Combermere, at any rate, had declared battle. Of what Ronder was aware no one knew. "How do you do, Canon Ronder? I'm delighted that you've honoured my poor little house. I hear that you're a busy man. I'm all the more proud that you can spare me half an hour." She kept him standing there, hoping, perhaps, that he would be consciously awkward and embarrassed. He was completely at his ease. "Oh, no, I'm not busy. I'm a very lazy man." He looked down at her, smiling, aware, apparently, of no one else in the room. "I'm always meaning to pull myself up. But I'm too old for improvement" "We're all busy people here, although you mayn't think it, Canon Ronder. But I'm afraid you're giving a false account of yourself. I've heard of you." "Nothing but good, I hope."