“He should eat herbs under the dominion of the Sun,” said Miss Gentry.
“Nip?”
“No—Mr. Flynt. He needs vital spirits.”
“Still, ginger is hardly the word,” murmured Jinny.
“It looks ginger against his clothes,” persisted Miss Gentry. “Of course a man can’t understand dressing himself.”
“Why, he’s better dressed than anybody in Long Bradmarsh—except Mr. Fallow,” said Jinny.
Miss Gentry was mollified by the compliment to her pastor. “All the same his coat wrinkles at the shoulders,” she said. “You notice next time.”
“I’ve got better things to do than to look at Mr. Flynt’s coat-sleeves,” said Jinny. “And I’ll be going on.”
“Well, if you do see him, give him my kind regards,” said Miss Gentry, “and say that any time he’s passing and would like a cup of tea, I’d be glad to discuss the tract I gave him.”
“Oh, it’s no use trying to convert him,” said Jinny. “He’s nothing at all.”