“Dear me! I am afraid that Lady Victoria is sarcastic, too,” Mr. Jones observed, sagaciously, looking after her. “Don’t you think so, Hammond?”
“I have suspected her of it sometimes; but she never admits it, and it is so difficult to prove these things.”
“I will ask the dean; I am sure he is not sarcastic—are you, dean?”
“My dear fellow,” Hammond interrupted, “I am surprised that you should ask such a question. A sarcastic dean would be a moral outrage. You might as well speak of a malicious cathedral.”
The dean thought of his fifty pounds, and smiled like an early Christian martyr commencing an interview with a sharp-set lion.
At this point Hammond’s attention was diverted by the entrance of the latest arrival. As he turned away to greet him, the dean laid a caressing hand on Mr. Jones’s arm.
“Did I hear you say just now that you were a subscriber to—”
Mr. Jones gave a glance round. He was alone with the dean, and the dean was on the wrong side of him. There was no human eye to see the deed. With one swift movement he succeeded in depositing his gloves in their long-sought hiding-place, and then suffered himself to fall an unresisting prey to the north tower of the Colchester Cathedral.
Captain Mauleverer’s face wore a decidedly cross expression as he came into the room. At the sight of Hammond it lighted up, and the two shook hands like old friends.
“So you patronize my aunt’s menagerie?” the captain observed, disrespectfully.