'Come, come!' said Augustine.
The vicar was the first to recover. He glowered at Augustine.
'What do you mean by jumping through my window?' he thundered. 'Are you a curate or a harlequin?'
Augustine met his gaze with an unfaltering eye.
'I am a curate,' he replied, with a dignity that well became him. 'And, as a curate, I cannot stand by and see two superiors of the cloth, who are moreover old schoolfellows, forgetting themselves. It isn't right. Absolutely not right, my old superiors of the cloth.'
The vicar bit his lip. The bishop bowed his head.
'Listen,' proceeded Augustine, placing a hand on the shoulder of each. 'I hate to see you two dear good chaps quarrelling like this.'
'He started it,' said the vicar, sullenly.
'Never mind who started it.' Augustine silenced the bishop with a curt gesture as he made to speak. 'Be sensible, my dear fellows. Respect the decencies of debate. Exercise a little good-humoured give-and-take. You say,' he went on, turning to the bishop, 'that our good friend here has too many orphreys on his chasuble?'
'I do. And I stick to it.'