"Yes. But the story is plausible. If this Mr Angel were someone very clever and eccentric—"
"He would have to be very eccentric to dress as he did. There are degrees and limits, dear."
"But kilts," said Mrs Jehoram.
"Are all very well in the Highlands...."
Mrs Jehoram's eyes had rested upon a black speck creeping slowly across a patch of yellowish-green up the hill.
"There he goes," said Mrs Jehoram, rising, "across the cornfield. I'm sure that's him. I can see the hump. Unless it's a man with a sack. Bless me, Minnie! here's an opera glass. How convenient for peeping at the Vicarage!... Yes, it's the man. He is a man. With such a sweet face."
Very unselfishly she allowed her hostess to share the opera glass. For a minute there was a rustling silence.
"His dress," said Mrs Mendham, "is quite respectable now."
"Quite," said Mrs Jehoram.
Pause.