"Yes; but——" stammered Boreham. "We can get into the cathedral."
She was actually beginning to hold out her hand as if to say Good-bye.
"Not now," she said; and before he had time to argue further, Bingham came suddenly upon them from somewhere, and expressed so much surprise at seeing them that it was evident that he had been on the watch. He had disposed of his purchases and was a free man. He had actually pounced upon them like a bird of prey—and stealthily too. It was a mean trick to have played.
"Are you coming out or going in?" asked Bingham.
"Neither," said May, turning to him as if she was glad of his approach.
"You've seen it before?" said Bingham.
"No, not yet," said May.
"It's as nice a place as you could find anywhere," said Bingham, calmly, "for doing a bit of Joss."
Boreham's brain surged with indignation. This man's intrusion at such a moment was insupportable. Yes, and he had got rid of his miserable table-cloth and shoes, probably taken them to Harding's house, and was going to tea there too. Not only this, but here he was talking in his jesting way, exactly in the same soft drawling voice in which he reeled off Latin quotations, and so it went down—yes, went down when it ought to have given offence. May ought to have been offended. She didn't look offended!
"You forget," said Boreham, looking through his eyeglass at Bingham and frowning, "that Mrs. Dashwood is, what is called a Churchwoman."