"There's a chair—here's a box of cigarettes. I never go to church—within four walls. I believe in parson green fields."
"So I see," assented Malcolm, as he seated himself and glanced significantly at the yellow book.
"You have been, of course—hence this air of virtue. Needs must when C. O. drives; your tent is pitched in the old man's compound, and you were under the paternal eye."
"Bosh!" blowing a cloud.
"Many in church?"
"Crowds—rather good singing."
"Ah! then—Dom Chandos was there."
"If you mean a tall, pale girl, with a soprano that nearly lifted the roof—she was——"
"Isn't it a marvellous voice? It's an awful shame she is lost out here——"
"Lost? She seems to know her way about fairly well——"