“Oh, very natural,” the archdeacon hastened to say; but his tone clearly expressed the opinion that “toujours Hammonds” was not a good bill of fare for the rector of Claversham. “Very natural, of course. Only,” he continued, taking courage, for he really liked the rector, “you have had some experience here, and I think it would be well if you were to give him a hint not to be too exclusive. A town rector must not be too exclusive. It does not do.” “No,” said Clode. “It is different in the country, of course. And then there is Mr. Bonamy. He is unpleasant, I know, and yet he is honest after a fashion. Lindo must beware of getting across with him. He has done nothing about the sheep yet, has he?” “No.” “Well, do not let him, if you can help it. You are not urging him on in that, are you?” “On the contrary,” the curate answered rather warmly, “I have all through told him that I would not express an opinion on it. If anything, I have discouraged him in the matter.” “Well, I hope he will let it drop now. I hope he will let it drop.” They parted then, and the archdeacon, sagely revolving in his mind the evils of exclusiveness, strolled back to the hotel where he put up his horses. On his way, casting his eye down the wide, quiet street, with its old-fashioned houses on this side and that, he espied Mr. Bonamy’s tall spare figure approaching, and he purposely passed the inn and went to meet him. As a county magnate the archdeacon could afford to know Mr. Bonamy, and even to be friendly with him. I am not sure, indeed, that he had not a sneaking liking and respect for the rugged, snappish, self-made man. “How do you do, Mr. Bonamy?” he began. And then, after saying a few words about closing a road in which he was interested, he slid into a mention of Lindo, with a view to seeing how the land lay. “I have just been to call on your rector,” he said. “You did not find him at home,” replied Bonamy, with a queer grin, and a little jerk of his head which sent his hat still farther back. “No, I was unlucky.” “Not more than most people,” said the churchwarden, with much enjoyment. “I will tell you what it is, Mr. Archdeacon. Mr. Lindo is better suited for your place. He would make a very good archdeacon. With a pair of horses and a park phaeton and a small parish, and a little general superintendence of the district—with that and the life of a country gentleman he would get on capitally.” There was just so much of a jest in the words that the clergyman had no choice but to laugh. “Come, Bonamy,” he said good-humoredly, “he is young yet.” “Oh, yes, he is quite out of place here in that respect, too!” replied the lawyer naïvely. “But he will improve,” pleaded the archdeacon. “I am not sure that he will have the chance,” Mr. Bonamy answered in his gentlest tone.