He rose to go, not daring to stay.
"When are you coming again, Mark? You always do me good. Can't you spend next Sunday with us? By the way, have you ever been to our church?"
"Yes; the first Sunday Archibald preached."
"Oh! The sermon about Balaam."
"Yes."
"You know, he says that he's uneven. But the women in this parish think him wonderful. Some of them, who sit near the pulpit, make a point of crying whenever he gives them a chance. One told me that when he pronounced the Benediction she felt purged of all sin! I could have bitten her."
Mark promised to spend the following Sunday in Cadogan Place, and duly accompanied Betty to morning service. For nearly thirty minutes Archibald preached to a crowded congregation, who listened intently to a conventional theme, treated conventionally. Coming out Mark heard a tall, thin man, with a striking face, whisper to the woman beside him: "I came for bread; he gave us pap—in a golden spoon."
"Did you hear that?" said Betty, a moment later.
"Yes."
Some friends greeted Betty, and no more was said till luncheon, to which the Chrysostom of Sloane Street applied himself, as usual, seriously and silently. He looked slightly puffy and his eyes were losing their clearness and sparkle. Mark asked abruptly if he were overworked.