“You have known him well?” “Very well.” “Umph! Then it seems to me it was a pity he did not confine himself to private life,” ejaculated the lawyer, with some scorn. “As a rector I do not like him.” “I am sorry for that,” Jack answered cheerfully. “But I have not known much of him as a rector, though indeed, as it happened, he brought the offer of the living straight to me, and I was the first person who congratulated him on his promotion.” Mr. Bonamy lifted his eyes slowly from the teacup he was raising to his lips, and looked fixedly at his visitor, an expression much resembling strong curiosity in his face. If a question was on the tip of his tongue he refrained from putting it, however, and Jack, who by no means wished to hear the tale of his friend’s shortcomings repeated, said no more until they rose from the table. Then he remarked, “Lindo dines late, I expect.” He put the question to Kate, but the lawyer answered it. “Oh, yes, he does everything which is fashionable,” he answered drily. And Jack, putting this and that together, began to see still more clearly how the land lay, and on what shoals his friend had wrecked his popularity. About half-past eight he went to the rectory, but found that Lindo was not at home. The door was opened to him, however, by Mrs. Baker, who had often seen the barrister in the East India Dock Road, and knew him well; and she pressed him to walk in and wait. “He dined at home, sir,” she explained. “I think he has only slipped out for a few minutes.” He followed her accordingly across the panelled hall to the study, where for a moment a whimsical smile played upon his face as he viewed its spacious comfort. The curtains were drawn, the fire was burning redly, and the lamp was turned half down. The housekeeper made as if she would have turned it up, but he prevented her. “I like it as it is,” he said genially. “This is better than No. 383, Mrs. Baker?” “Well, sir,” she answered, looking round with an air of modest proprietorship, “it is a bit more like.” “What would you have, Mrs. Baker?” he asked, laughing. “The bishop’s palace?” “We may come to that in time, sir,” she answered, folding her arms demurely. “But I do not know that I would wish it! He has a peck of troubles now, and there would be more in a palace, I doubt.” “I agree with you,” Jack replied, laughing. “Troubles come thick about an apron, Mrs. Baker.” “Ay, the men see to that!” retorted the good lady, getting the last word and going away delighted.