“I haven’t spoken to him,” Hurd answered, “but I should think he’s more or less mad. I can understand mission and Salvation Army work and all that sort of thing in the cities, but I’m hanged if I can understand any one coming to Thorpe with such notions.”
“Our hostess is annoyed about it, I imagine,” Deyes remarked.
“She seems to have taken a dislike to the fellow,” Hurd admitted. “She was speaking to me about him just now. He is to be turned out of his lodgings here.”
Gilbert Deyes smiled. The news interested him.
“Our hostess is practical in her dislikes,” he remarked.
“Why not?” his neighbour answered. “The place belongs to her.”
Deyes watched for a moment the smoke from his cigarette, curling upwards.
“The young man,” he said thoughtfully, “impressed me as being a person of some determination. I wonder whether he will consent to accept defeat so easily.”
The agent’s son scarcely saw what else there was for him to do.
“There isn’t anywhere round here,” he remarked, “where they would take him in against Miss Thorpe-Hatton’s wishes. Besides, he has nowhere to preach. His coming here at all was a huge mistake. If he’s a sensible person he’ll admit it.”