"Miss Deronnais, I wouldn't rely on Father Mahon. I've hardly ever met a priest who takes these things seriously. In theory—yes, of course; but not in concrete instances. However, Father Mahon may be an exception. And the worst of it is that the priesthood has enormous power, if they only knew it."
The tinkle of a bicycle bell sounded down the road behind them. Maggie wheeled on the instant, and caught the profile she was expecting.
"Is that you?" she said, as the rider passed.
The man jumped off, touched his hat, and handed her a note. She tore it open, and glanced through it in the light of the bicycle lamp. Then she crumpled it up and threw it into the ditch with a quick, impatient movement.
"All right," she said. "Good night."
The gardener mounted his bicycle again and moved off.
"Well?" said the old man.
"Father Mahon's called away suddenly. It's from his housekeeper. He'll only be back in time for the first mass tomorrow."
The other nodded, three or four times, as if in assent.
"Why do you do that?" asked the girl suddenly.