Volume One—Chapter Eighteen.
Official.
“A most valuable woman, Timson,” the vicar said to the churchwarden; “most suitable person. You never see her flurried when a great many people are waiting for seats.”
“Never,” said Mr Timson, gruffly.
The conversation took place in the vicar’s snuggery, where he and his friend indulged in these unclerical comforts, pipes, gin-and-water, and cribbage.
“Very stiff and formal she is certainly,” said the vicar; “but, somehow, she never seems to give offence.”
“Yes, she does,” said Mr Timson, gruffly; “she offends me; I don’t like her. Wish Mother Nimmer was alive again.”
“Pooh! nonsense! stuff! prejudice!”
“Shoo, shoo, shoo, shoo!” ejaculated Mr Timson. “I haven’t a bit of prejudice in my whole body.”