"I thank you," said the stranger. "I am bound for a place called
Culvercoombe."
"Why, and so am I! So you must give me the pleasure."
"You are exceedingly kind."
He clambered up, not very skilfully, and the dog-cart bowled on again.
For a while the two kept silence. Then Parson Chichester made an opening—
"You don't belong to these parts?" he asked.
"No. . . . Pardon my curiosity, but are you a friend of Miss Breward's?"
"I believe she would allow me to say 'yes.' By the way, hereabouts we call her Miss Sally. Everyone does—even the butler at Meriton, with whom I was speaking just now."
"Indeed? . . . I am wondering if you would presently add to your kindness by giving me an introduction to her? Trust me," he went on, staring down the road ahead and answering Parson Chichester's quick glance without seeming to perceive it, "you will incur no responsibility. I am not a mendicant priest, and only ask her to favour me with an address, which I believe she can easily give."
"An address?"