ÊTRE MARTYR . . . . SON MÉTIER.
[CHAPTER XX.]
A SUNDAY CONVERSATION.
Miss Adelaide (warming her toes on the fender before sitting down to luncheon). Oh, how cold it was in Church.
Captain Byrton. Wasn't it. Upon my word if they expect people to go, they ought to keep the place warm.
Chilvern. It was so cold I couldn't go to sleep during the sermon (knives and forks at work).
Cazell. It wasn't such a very bad sermon. Pickles, please! Thanks.
Myself (showing some interest). Who preached?
Mrs. Frimmely. I don't know his name. He wasn't here last Sunday.