“Very kind of you, sir,” said the Major, replacing his feet on the mantelshelf.  “And at what time are the services on Sunday?”

The clergyman jumped.  He was not accustomed to that sort of question.

“I ...” he began.

“I’m a strong Churchman, sir,” said the Major.  “And even if I were not, one must set an example, you know.  I may be narrow-minded, but I’m particular about all that sort of thing.  I shall be with you on Sunday.”

He nodded reassuringly at Mr. Parham-Carter.

“Well, we have morning prayer at ten-thirty next Sunday, and the Holy Eucharist at eleven—­and, of course, at eight.”

“No vestments, I hope?” said the Major sternly.

Mr. Parham-Carter faltered a little.  Vestments were not in use, but to his regret.

“Well, we don’t use vestments,” he said, “but—­”

The Major resumed his pipe with a satisfied air.

“That’s all right,” he said.  “Now, I’m not bigoted—­my friend here’s a Roman Catholic, but—­”

The clergyman looked up sharply, and for the first time became consciously conscious of the second man.  Frank had sat back again on the bed, with Jimmie beside him, and was watching the little scene quietly and silently, and the clergyman met his eyes full.  Some vague shock thrilled through him; Frank’s clean-shaven brown face seemed somehow familiar—­or was it something else?

Mr. Parham-Carter considered the point for a little while in silence, only half attending to the Major, who was now announcing his views on the Establishment and the Reformation settlement.  Frank said nothing at all, and there grew on the clergyman a desire to hear his voice.  He made an opportunity at last.

“Yes, I see,” he said to the Major; “and you—­I don’t know your name?”

“Gregory, sir,” said Frank.  And again a little shock thrilled Mr. Parham-Carter.  The voice was the kind of thing he had expected from that face.

* * * * *

It was about ten minutes later, that the clergyman thought it was time to go.  He had the Major’s positive promise to attend at least the evening service on the following Sunday—­a promise he did not somehow very much appreciate—­but he had made no progress with Frank.  He shook hands all round very carefully, told Jimmie not to miss Sunday-school, and publicly commended Maggie for a recitation she had accomplished at the Band of Hope on the previous evening; and then went out, accompanied by Mrs. Partington, still silent, as far as the door.  But as he actually went out, someone pushed by the woman and came out into the street.

“May I speak to you a minute?” said the strange young man, dropping the “sir.”  “I’ll walk with you as far as the clergy-house if you’ll let me.”

* * * * *

When they were out of earshot of the house Frank began.

“You’re Parham-Carter, aren’t you?” he said.  “Of Hales’.”