"You only go out there and try what starving is; you'd t good-humour ell a different tale," said Roland, maintaining his good-humour. "Starving there means starving."
Some one of those turns in conversation, which occur so naturally, brought round the subject to Mr. Ollivera. Roland, imparting sundry revelations of his home-life at Mrs. Jones's--or, as he called her still, Mrs. Jenkins--mentioned the clergyman's name.
"Don't you mean to call and see him?" he asked of William Yorke. "You'd better."
But Mr. Yorke declined. "My time in London is so very short," he said; "I go home tomorrow. Besides, I have really no acquaintance with Mr. Ollivera. We never met but on one occasion."
"When you lent him your surplice," spoke Roland. And William Yorke looked up in surprise.
"What do you know about it?"
"Oh, I know a great deal," returned Roland. "I say--why did you not attend that night yourself? You promised."
"I did not promise. All I said was that I would consider of it. Upon reflection, I thought it better not to go. The circumstances were very peculiar; and the Dean, had he come to know of it, might have taken me to task."
"Not he," said independent Roland. "The Dean's made of sterling gold."
"What sort of a chanter does Tom make?" enquired Hamish.