They went into the sitting-room, where Mrs. Vissian and Percy still sat at table.
It was a rule with the rector to put all mundane literature aside on Sunday, but to-day he, had yielded to temptation. At the place where he had been sitting, a Shakspeare lay open, with a note-book beside it. Mr. Vissian stood with his back to the fire, fidgeting. Presently he could hold no longer; whilst Kingcote was still eating and drinking, he laid a hand on his shoulder, and put before him a page of the note-book.
“My friend,” he said gravely, “read that—carefully now; with no indecent haste. Read—perpend!”
It was the explanatory note on “The Lady of the Strachy.”
“That’s very interesting,” said Kingcote quietly.
“Interesting! By the Turk! It is epochmaking, as the Germans say. I have not a doubt remaining.”
Mrs. Vissian listened to the conversation with just a little evident uneasiness. It was troublesome to be more orthodox than the rector, but she could not forget that it was Sunday. Affectionate little women are quite capable of these weaknesses.
When Mr. Vissian’s excitement was somewhat allayed, Kingcote began in a matter-of-fact way, and told them of his approaching departure, explaining the circumstances which occasioned it. His hearers were genuinely distressed.
“This is evil following upon good with a vengeance,” said the rector. His wife looked sorrowfully at him, and half wondered in her foolish little mind whether this might be a reproval of his Sabbath-breaking—a mild one, suited to a first backsliding.
“I owe you more than I can thank you for,” said Kingcote, looking from husband to wife. “I shall think of the rectory as if it had been my home.”