His frown melted away. Here at least was one whose appreciation was never lacking. "Well, my dear Adelaide, I think I may truthfully say that the stress of my business is fairly over. You may come in."
She crept in, mouse-like, and a distant burst of music wafted in with her, causing her to turn and quickly close the door.
"Have you finished your sermon, dear? Can we have a little talk?" she asked him nervously.
He stretched out a large white hand to her without rising. "Yes. I do not think much remains to be said. We have as it were regarded the matter from every point of view. I do not think there will be many consciences unaroused when I have enunciated my final warning."
"You have such a striking delivery," murmured Mrs. Lorimer, clasping the firm white hand between both her own.
Mr. Lorimer's eyes vanished in an unctuous smile. "Thou idle flatterer!" he said.
"No, indeed, dear," his wife protested. "I think you are always impressive, especially at the end of your sermons. That pause you make before you turn your face to the altar—it seems to me so effective—so, if one may say it, dramatic."
"To what request is this the prelude?" enquired Mr. Lorimer, emerging from his smile.
She laughed a little nervous laugh. Her thin face was flushed. "Shall we sit by the fire, Stephen, as we used to that first happy winter—do you remember?—after we were married?"
"Dear me!" said Mr. Lorimer. "This sounds like a plunge into sentiment."