All at once she had thrust the advertisement sheet of the paper underneath his nose, with the exclamation--
"Look at that!"
He looked at it, and had read the advertisement reproduced above.
"Don't sit there like a stuck dummy," observed Miss Macleod, whose English, in her moments of excitement, was more than peculiar. "Go and get the thing that you call a hat! Hat!" Miss Macleod sniffed; "if you had appeared in the streets in my days with such a thing on your head, people would have thought that Guy Fawkes's day was come again."
The Rev. Alan was still studying the paper.
"But, my dear aunt, you are not seriously thinking of paying any attention to such an advertisement as that?"
"And why not? Isn't the man a clergyman?"
"I can't think that a priest--"
"A priest!" cried Miss Macleod, to whom the word was as a red rag to a bull. "Who spoke about a priest?"
The Rev. Alan went placidly on--