“How do you do, Mr. Bonamy?” he began. And then, after saying a few words about closing a road in which he was interested, he slid into a mention of Lindo, with a view to seeing how the land lay. “I have just been to call on your rector,” he said.
“You did not find him at home,” replied Bonamy, with a queer grin, and a little jerk of his head which sent his hat still farther back.
“No, I was unlucky.”
“Not more than most people,” said the churchwarden, with much enjoyment. “I will tell you what it is, Mr. Archdeacon. Mr. Lindo is better suited for your place. He would make a very good archdeacon. With a pair of horses and a park phaeton and a small parish, and a little general superintendence of the district—with that and the life of a country gentleman he would get on capitally.”
There was just so much of a jest in the words that the clergyman had no choice but to laugh. “Come, Bonamy,” he said good-humoredly, “he is young yet.”
“Oh, yes, he is quite out of place here in that respect, too!” replied the lawyer naïvely.
“But he will improve,” pleaded the archdeacon.
“I am not sure that he will have the chance,” Mr. Bonamy answered in his gentlest tone.
The archdeacon was so far from understanding him that he did not answer save by raising his eyebrows. Could Bonamy really be so foolish, he wondered, as to think he could get rid of a beneficed clergyman. The archdeacon was surprised, and yet that was all he could make of it.
“He is away at Mr. Homfray’s of Holberton now,” the lawyer continued, condemnation in his thin voice.