"I thought she would have been here to-night," Mrs. Armitage said. "But she isn't. I suppose she felt she couldn't face it. So many of his congregation are here, or so many who were in his congregation."
"The church was crammed to the doors last Sunday week when he preached," observed Malling.
"Was it? Curiosity, I suppose. It certainly can't have been the intellectual merit of the sermon. I heard it was quite deplorable. But last Sunday's, I was told, was worse still. No continuity at all, and the church not full. People say the curate, Mr. Chichester, who often preaches in the evening, is making a great effect, completely cutting out his rector. And he used to be almost unbearably dull."
"Will you have a quail?"
"Please. You might give me two. My doctor says if I sit up late—thank you!"
"I've never heard Mr. Chichester preach," said Malling.
"He seems to have come on marvelously, to be quite another man."
"Quite another man, does he?"
"Yes. It's very trying for the Hardings naturally. If it continues I think there will have to be a change. I don't think things can go on as they are. My friend Sophia won't be able to stand it."
"You mean—the contrast?"