At which her visitor expressed himself as greatly shocked and turned his eyes heavenward.
"I remark with sorrow," he observed, "that you are not a true believer.
Your faith is not of the simple kind."
He could hardly have chosen an unhappier argument. Mrs. Barraclough's devotion was a byword in the parish. To be treated thus by a totally unknown clergyman was not to be tolerated. Her doubt as to the probity of this person fostered by Jane and Flora took definite shape. She decided to interrogate and, if necessary, expose him without further preamble.
"It is customary for visitors to be announced," she said. "I would be obliged if you would tell me your name."
Mr. Bolt sighed and seated himself heavily on the sofa, his little pig-like eyes roving round the room.
"My name, madam, is the Reverend Prometheus Bolt."
"And why have you called upon me?"
Mr. Bolt faltered. He did not like this lady who pointed every question.
"An act of civility, my dear madam. I am staying a few days in this enchanting vicinity and hearing of your benevolent character was persuaded to pay my best respects."
"My benevolent character! You are collecting for a charity? You are proposing to hand me a tract?"