“I’ll be delighted to mention it in church next Sunday,” Black offered promptly.
“Oh—really?”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know why not. I supposed you would. Your church people—they don’t like——”
“Don’t they?—I’ll be all the more delighted to mention the war posters, then. Thank you for giving me the chance. And for showing me the garden—and Sue. She’s a lucky girl—and so are you, aren’t you?—to have such a chance. You’ll make the most of it. Miss Ray, I think Sue never heard of—Somebody she ought to know. She needs Him—even more than she needs you. Teach her the story of Him—will you? You don’t mind my saying it? You couldn’t mind—you care for her! Good-night!”
Jane Ray looked after the tall figure, striding swiftly away up the side street through the June twilight.
“You certainly aren’t afraid,” she thought, “to say exactly what you think. I like you for that, anyhow.”
CHAPTER V
PLAIN AS A PIKESTAFF
ROBERT BLACK was dressing for a dinner—a men’s dinner, to which Samuel Lockhart had invited him, and Tom Lockhart had commanded him.
“You see, I’ve got to be there,” Tom had explained. “And Dad always asks a lot of ponderous old personages who bore you to death—or else make you red with rage at some of their fossil ideas. The only thing that saves the case for me to-night is that you’re coming. I’ve stipulated that I sit near you—see? Mother wouldn’t hear of my being next you—that honour is reserved for one of your trustees.”