True, he had lunched on Thursday, and this was only Saturday, therefore the call might be considered somewhat precipitate. But, argued John, endeavouring to find some plausible excuse for the precipitancy of the call, with the practical certainty in view of meeting the family in the cloisters after Mass the following day, the most desirable course, the only correct and proper course, was to call that very afternoon.
No sooner thought than decided on. John left the White Cottage, betaking himself in the direction of the church, from which he intended to drag a possibly reluctant Corin, and insist on his mounting the hill in his company.
But his intentions and his insistence came to nought.
A dusty, untidy, and wholly absorbed Corin utterly refused to accompany him. Objection number one, it was too soon to pay a call; objection number two, it was Saturday afternoon, the one afternoon in the week on which he enjoyed solitude; objection number three, would John kindly look at the discovery he had just made, and then see if he—Corin—was likely to leave it for the purpose of paying a merely conventional visit.
John looked. Corin was, at the moment, on terra firma, be it stated.
On either side of where the altar would have stood, had there been one, and some five feet or so from the ground, the wall was partially uncovered. A border in brilliant blue, red, black, and yellow was disclosed,—a bold, simple pattern. Below it, in the upper loops of a painted curtain, were animals,—dragons, twisted of tail, forked of tongue; a leveret, a deer, and a fox, each of these last courant, to use the parlance of heraldry. For the most part the animals were washed in boldly in red; two of the dragons were a gorgeous yellow.
“I am certain,” said Corin enthusiastically, “that they are after Geraldius Cambrensis. It’s the best find of the lot. I’m not coming with you. Nothing, no power on earth, can drag me from this till dark. If you must go today, make my excuses.”
Therefore John departed.
The excuse was valid. It also gave a raison d’être for his somewhat precipitate call. Miss Delancey was interested in the discoveries in the church. It would be merely friendly to let her know of this new discovery as soon as possible. Therefore, I say, John departed. Of course he grumbled a moment or so before departing. Equally of course the grumbling was of a merely perfunctory nature.
And then he turned into the sunshine.