“Just plain prying,” persisted his sister angrily. “I don't see what else it is.”
The Rev. Pontifex straightened up and threw out his chest as he replied:
“It is protecting my flock. As Leader of the Unified All Souls Baptismal Presbytery, it is my duty to visit the widows and orphans of this community.”
“These people are neither widows or orphans,” objected Miss Deetle.
“They are strangers,” insisted the Rev. Pontifex, “and it is my duty to minister to them—if they need it. Furthermore it is my duty to my congregation to find out who is in their midst. No less than three of the Lady Trustees of my church have asked me who and what these people are and whence they came.”
“The Lady Trustees are a pack of old busybodies,” growled his sister.
Her brother raised his finger warningly.
“Jane, do you know you are uttering a blasphemy? These Rossmore people have been here two weeks. They have visited no one, no one visits them. They have avoided a temple of worship, they have acted most mysteriously. Who are they? What are they hiding? Is it fair to my church, is it fair to my flock? It is not a bereavement, for they don't wear mourning. I'm afraid it may be some hidden scandal—”
Further speculations on his part were interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Rossmore, who thought rightly that the quickest way to get rid of her unwelcome visitors was to hurry downstairs as quickly as possible.
“Miss Deetle—Mr. Deetle. I am much honoured,” was her not too effusive greeting.