'Clearly the only thing for me to do is to kill someone. Who shall it be?' asked Stella, with mock gravity.
'Well, I'd offer myself, but you did for me long ago.'
'Why, Ted, you are getting quite epigrammatic.'
'Oh, I can't make a stew of my heart and put it into a letter, like some fellows. But look here, Stella. Ah, here comes Cuthbert. By Jove! he looks almost like a Bishop already.'
The newcomer, Cuthbert Lionel Courtland, was three years older than his sister. He was a young clergyman, with perhaps something of the ultra-gravity of demeanour that may sometimes be observable in those that have recently entered on the sacred calling. He had the finely-developed brow that was a characteristic of the Courtland family, dark gray eyes, something like Stella's in expression, and a beautifully-chiselled mouth, that helped largely to convey the calm, sunny expression which marked his face.
The two young men greeted each other as old acquaintances.
'You're a full-blown parson, Courtland, since I last saw you; I suppose I ought to congratulate you, but——'
'But you're not quite sure, Ritchie? Well, I'll take the half-will for the deed.'
'The fact is, I never know what to say before a parson; and though we've been kiddies together, I don't believe I can forget after this you belong to the cloth. The white choker and that makes you look, somehow, as if you had belonged to the clergy all your life.'
'Well, shall I put a spotted necktie on, Ted—for old acquaintance' sake?' laughed the young clergyman.