The Vicar opened the door half mechanically to let out Crump, and saw Mendham, his curate, coming up the pathway by the hedge of purple vetch and meadowsweet. At that his hand went up to his chin and his eyes grew perplexed¹. Suppose he was deceived. The Doctor passed the Curate with a sweep of his hand from his hat brim. Crump was an extraordinarily² clever fellow, the Vicar thought, and knew far more of anyone's brain than one did oneself. The Vicar felt that so acutely. It made the coming explanation difficult. Suppose he were to go back into the drawing-room, and find just a tramp asleep on the hearthrug.

 

Mendham was a cadaverous man with a magnificent beard. He looked, indeed, as though he had run to beard as a mustard plant does to seed.[Pg 62] But when he spoke³ you found he had a voice as well.

 

"My wife came home in a dreadful state," he brayed⁴ out at long range.

 

"Come in," said the Vicar; "come in. Most remarkable⁵ occurrence. Please come in. Come into the study. I'm really dreadfully sorry. But when I explain...."

 

"And apologise, I hope," brayed the Curate.

 

"And apologise. No, not that way. This way. The study."

 

"Now what was that woman?" said the Curate, turning on the Vicar as the latter closed the study door.

 

"What woman?"

 

"Pah!"

 

"But really!"

 

"The painted creature in light attire⁶—disgustingly light attire, to speak freely—with whom you were promenading⁷ the garden."

 

"My dear Mendham—that was an Angel!"

 

"A  v e r y  p r e t t y  Angel?"

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