Mr. Hurd unfolded the letter. The ghost of a smile flickered upon his lips.
“A preacher, apparently,” he answered. “The letter is one asking permission to give a series of what he terms religious lectures in Harrison’s large barn!”
Her eyebrows were gently raised. Her tone was one of genuine surprise.
“What, in Thorpe?” she demanded.
“In Thorpe!” Mr. Hurd acquiesced.
She took the letter and read it. Her perplexity was in no manner diminished.
“The man seems in earnest,” she remarked. “He must either be a stranger to this part of the country, or an extremely impertinent person. I presume, Mr. Hurd, that nothing has been going on in the place with which I am unacquainted?”
“Certainly not, madam,” he answered.
“There has been no drunkenness?” she remarked. “The young people have, I presume, been conducting their love-making discreetly?”
The lines of Mr. Hurd’s mouth were a trifle severe. One could imagine that he found her modern directness of speech indelicate.