"Why is it that I have always to ask you about the milk and sugar. Negligent in these little matters, I fear that you neglect also your higher duties."
Manuel ran his fingers uneasily through his oily locks, and burst out, "Nosar--confess, sar--reglar."
"Confess!" exclaimed Galbraith, roused at having his servant's religious belief thrust before him; "confess to an idol."
"Nosar--confess to Father St. Francis."
"Pish!" and Galbraith helped himself to a fresh cup of tea, but said no more.
When he had finished, the Goanese removed the tea things, and the pastor remained sitting in his easy-chair. He would have liked to smoke; in fact, an almost intolerable longing seized him, but he thrust it down.
"I will not desecrate the Sabbath," he said. He would not even look at his flowers; but after staring for a few minutes at the cheerless walls of the meeting-house, rose and went in.
CHAPTER III.
[A BILLET-DOUX.]
As Galbraith went into the house he noticed the dreary aspect of the rooms. He laid his hand for a moment on a small side-table, and when he lifted his fingers off their impression was distinctly visible on the dusty surface. A picture on the wall before him had slipped from its moorings, and hung in a helpless sort of way from a brass-headed nail. The pastor mounted a chair, and set the picture straight, wiping the glass carefully with his pocket-handkerchief. As he stepped down he called to mind a remark made by good-natured Mrs. Bunny.