The Cathedral: A Novel

by Hugh Walpole

Mrs. Combermere, raising one foot, kicked a coal into blaze.

"Tea will be in in a minute.... Now, I'll tell you for your good, my dear Ellen, that I don't like your Ronder."

Miss Stiles laughed. "Oh, you needn't mind me, Betsy. You never have. Why don't you?"

"In the first place, he's stupid."

Miss Stiles laughed again.

"Never wronger in your life. I thought you were smarter than that."

Mrs. Combermere smacked her knee. "I may be wrong. I often am. I take prejudices, I know. Secondly, he's fat and soft--too like the typical parson."

"It's an assumed disguise--however, go on."

"Third, I hear he agrees with everything one says."

"You hear? You've not talked to him yourself, then?"