"He was sitting in a pew with some farmery-looking people. There was a patriarchal old man, very stately and imposing, rather like—like——"
"Moses?" I suggested.
"No. I don't think Moses was like that."
I had got as far as 'Aar'—when Lady Rubislaw said—
"Elijah?"
"That's it," replied Kitty. "Just like Elijah." (All things considered, I cannot imagine why Moses would not have done as well.) "Then beside him was a perfectly dear old lady. Not so very old either; say sixty. Of course they may not have belonged to Sir James at all: he may just have been put in their pew. Still, they kept handing him Bibles, and looking up places for him at singing time."
"That means nothing," said I. "It's the merest courtesy here."
"True," said our hostess. "I was having a most lovely little doze during the Second Lesson, or whatever they call it, when a most officious young woman three or four pews away took up an enormous Bible, found the place, squeaked down the aisle, and thrust it under my nose. I had to hold it up for fifty-seven verses," she concluded pathetically.
"Did you go and speak to Sir James after the service?" I inquired.
"No. That was this child's fault," said Kitty, indicating Miss Buncle.