“Mr Trethick!” cried the vicar, half rising.
“Don’t be offended, I mean no harm,” said Geoffrey, smiling, “and I am not talking to an elder, but a contemporary, as I said before. Besides, Miss Penwynn heard it, and she shall be judge.”
“I beg, Mr Trethick,” began the vicar, but on glancing at Rhoda’s eager face, he determined not to be mastered in argument, especially upon his own ground.
“I maintain,” said Geoffrey, coolly, “that your sermon was a masterly bit of logic.”
The vicar stared.
“A capital line of argument.”
Rhoda nodded.
“Most scholarly.”
A faint flush began to appear in the vicar’s cheeks.
“In fact, an excellent sermon,” said Geoffrey.