The Angel had finished his tea and was standing looking pensively out of the window. He thought the old church down the valley lit by the light of the setting sun was very beautiful, but he could not understand the serried ranks of tombstones that lay up the hillside beyond. He turned as Mendham and the Vicar came in. Now Mendham could bully his Vicar cheerfully enough, just as he could bully his congregation; but he was not the sort of man to bully a stranger. He looked at the Angel, and the "strange woman" theory was disposed of. The Angel's beauty was too clearly the beauty of the youth. "Mr Hilyer tells me," Mendham began, in an almost apologetic tone, "that you--ah--it's so curious--claim to be an Angel." "_Are_ an Angel," said the Vicar. The Angel bowed. "Naturally," said Mendham, "we are curious." "Very," said the Angel. "The blackness and the shape." "I beg your pardon?" said Mendham. "The blackness and the flaps," repeated the Angel; "and no wings." "Precisely," said Mendham, who was altogether at a loss. "We are, of course, curious to know something of how you came into the village in such a peculiar costume." The Angel looked at the Vicar. The Vicar touched his chin. "You see," began the Vicar. "Let _him_ explain," said Mendham; "I beg." "I wanted to suggest," began the Vicar. "And I don't want you to suggest." "_Bother!_" said the Vicar. The Angel looked from one to the other. "Such rugose expressions flit across your faces!" he said. "You see, Mr--Mr--I don't know your name," said Mendham, with a certain diminution of suavity. "The case stands thus: My wife--four ladies, I might say--are playing lawn tennis, when you suddenly rush out on them, sir; you rush out on them from among the rhododendra in a very defective costume. You and Mr Hilyer." "But I--" said the Vicar. "I know. It was this gentleman's costume was defective. Naturally--it is my place in fact--to demand an explanation." His voice was growing in volume. "And I _must_ demand an explanation." The Angel smiled faintly at his note of anger and his sudden attitude of determination--arms tightly folded. "I am rather new to the world," the Angel began. "Nineteen at least," said Mendham. "Old enough to know better. That's a poor excuse." "May I ask one question first?" said the Angel. "Well?" "Do you think I am a Man--like yourself? As the chequered man did." "If you are not a man--" "One other question. Have you _never_ heard of an Angel?" "I warn you not to try that story upon me," said Mendham, now back at his familiar crescendo. The Vicar interrupted: "But Mendham--he has wings!" "_Please_ let me talk to him," said Mendham. "You are so quaint," said the Angel; "you interrupt everything I have to say." "But what _have_ you to say?" said Mendham. "That I really _am_ an Angel...." "Pshaw!" "There you go!"