“Who is he, James?” he asked, quickly.
“He wouldn’t give his name, sir. He said as how you’d be sure to see him, sir.”
“Quite right, quite right,” said a deep voice, whose owner entered behind the astonished flunkey. “Er—How do, Dudley!”
If Mr Vallance had been startled before, the expression of his features now betokened a state of mind little short of scare. His face had turned as white as a sheet, and his jaw fell as he stood helplessly staring at his visitor.
“Why—bless my soul—Ralph,” he stammered. Then advancing with outstretched hand, “Why—Ralph—I’m—I’m glad to see you. I hope you have come to stay with us for a time.”
The visitor’s reception of this friendly—this hospitable overture, was singular. Standing bolt upright, he deliberately put his hand behind his back.
“Glad to see me!” he echoed, with a sneer. “No, you are not. Why tell a—tarra-diddle. Such a tarra-diddle, too—and you a preacher—er—I beg your pardon—a priest, it used to be, if I remember right. You would sooner see the devil himself at this moment than me.”
Under the sting of this reply, the parson recovered a certain amount of dignity.
“Really,” he said, stiffly, “your behaviour is strange, to put it mildly. May I ask, then, the object of your intru— your visit.”
“Certainly, if it affords you any satisfaction.” Then glancing around the room, and finishing up with a look out of the window, he went on. “Say, cousin Dudley, this is a pretty shebang enough. The object of my visit is this: You’ve bossed up this show about long enough. Suppose you abdicate now and let me have a turn?”