"Upon my word," he chuckled, "it was something of a feat to take a religious cock-pit and turn it into an Old Men's Mutual Improvement Society. Since the Wesleyans took over the Westminster Aquarium—"
"You need not add insult to injury."
"'Injury'? My good Warboise, a truce is not a treaty: still less is it a defeat.… Now look here. You are in a raging bad temper this evening, and you tell yourself it's because the Bishop, with my artless aid, has—as you express it—put you in the cart. Now I am going to prove to you that the true reason is a quite different one. For why? Because, though you may not know it, you have been in a raging bad temper ever since this business was broached, three months ago. Why again? I have hinted the answer more than once; and now I will put it as a question. Had Zimri peace, who slew his Master?"
"I do not understand."
"Oh yes, you do! You are in a raging bad temper, being at heart more decent than any of your silly convictions, because you have wounded for their sake the eminent Christian gentleman now coming towards us along the river-path. He has been escorting the Bishop for some distance on his homeward way, and has just parted from him. I'll wager that he meets us without a touch of resentment.… Ah, Brother, you have cause to be full of wrath!"
Sure enough the Master, approaching and recognising the pair, hailed them gaily.
"Eh? Brother Copas—Brother Warboise—a fine evening! But the swallows will be leaving us in a week or two."
For a moment it seemed he would pass on, with no more than the usual nod and fatherly smile. He had indeed taken a step or two past them as they stood aside for him in the narrow path: but on a sudden thought he halted and turned about.
"By the way—that sick friend of yours, Brother Warboise.… I was intending to ask about him. Paralysed, I think you said? Do I know him?"
"He is not my friend," answered Brother Warboise gruffly.