“Sit down, Mr. Storm, sit down,” said the canon, returning to the sofa.
But John did not sit. He stood by the chair vacated by Felicity, and kept beating his hat on the back of it.
“I have come to tell you, sir, that I wish to resign my curacy.”
The canon glanced up with a stealthy expression, and thought: “How clever of him! To resign before he is told plainly that he has to go—that is very clever.”
Then he said aloud: “I am sorry, very sorry. I'm always sorry to part with my clergy. Still—you see I am entirely frank with you—I have observed that you have not been comfortable of late, and I think you are acting for the best. When do you wish to leave me?”
“As soon as convenient—as early as I can be spared.”
The canon smiled condescendingly. “That need not trouble you at all. With a staff like mine, you see—— Of course, you are aware that I am entitled to three months' notice?”
“Yes.”
“But I will waive it; I will not detain you. Have you seen your uncle on the subject?”
“No.”