He rang to make Ellen hurry. Till she came Malling talked about Italian pictures and looked at the curate's books. When she had cleared away, left the coffee, and finally departed, he sat down with an air of satisfaction. Chichester did not smoke, but begged Malling to light up, and gave him a cigar.
"Coffee always does one good," he said. "It acts directly on the heart, and seems to strengthen the whole body. I have had a trying day."
"You look tired," said Malling.
The fact was that Chichester had never recovered the color he had so suddenly lost when they were discussing Mr. Harding.
"It's no wonder if I do," rejoined Chichester, in a voice that sounded hopeless.
He drank some coffee, seemed to make a strong effort to recover himself, and, with more energy, said:
"I asked you here because I wanted to renew a pleasant acquaintanceship, but also—you won't think me discourteous, I know—because—well, I had a purpose in begging you to come."
"Won't you tell me what it is?"
The curate shifted in his armchair, clasped and unclasped his hands. A mental struggle was evidently going on within him. Indeed, during the whole evening Malling had received from him a strong impression of combat, of confusion.
"I wanted to continue the discussion we began at Mr. Harding's the other day. You remember, I asked you not to tell him you were coming?"