"To send to my solicitor," replied Steel, "as I warned him that I might.
It has all to be drawn up; and there is the question of a settlement;
and other questions, perhaps, which you may like to put to him yourself
without delay."
CHAPTER IX
A CHANGE OF SCENE
The Reverend Hugh Woodgate, Vicar of Marley-in-Delverton--a benefice for
generations in the gift of the Dukes of Normanthorpe, but latterly in
that of one John Buchanan Steel--was writing his sermon on a Friday
afternoon just six months after the foregoing events. The month was
therefore May, and, at either end of the long, low room in which Mr.
Woodgate sat at work, the windows were filled with a flutter of summer
curtains against a brilliant background of waving greenery. But a fire
burned in one of the two fireplaces in the old-fashioned funnel of a
room, for a treacherous east wind skimmed the sunlit earth outside, and
whistled and sang through one window as the birds did through the other.
Mr. Woodgate was a tall, broad-shouldered, mild-eyed man, with a blot of
whisker under each ear, and the cleanest of clerical collars
encompassing his throat.
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