Part 10 (2/2)
He got up and rang the bell. Ellen reappeared, cleared away, and put the stewed fruit and custard on the table.
”Bring the coffee in ten minutes, Ellen. I won't ring.”
”Very well, sir.”
”Dispersion,” said Chichester to Malling in a firmer voice, as Ellen disappeared.
”Concentration makes for strength. Mr. Harding seems to me mentally--what shall I say?--rather torn in pieces, as if preyed upon by some anxiety.
Now, if you'll allow me to be personal, I should say that you have greatly gained in strength and power since I knew you two years ago.”
”You--you observe a difference?” asked Chichester, apparently in great perturbation.
”A striking difference.”
”And--and would you say I looked a happier, as well as a--a stronger man?”
”I couldn't with truth say that.”
”Very few of us are happy,” said Chichester, with trembling lips. ”Poor miserable sinners as we are! And we clergymen, who set up to direct others--” he broke off.
He seemed greatly, strangely, moved.
”You must forgive me. I have had a very hard day's work!” he murmured.
”The coffee will do me good. Let us sit in the armchairs, and Ellen can clear away. I wish I had two sitting-rooms.”
He rang to make Ellen hurry. Till she came Malling talked about Italian pictures and looked at the curate's books. When she had cleared away, left the coffee, and finally departed, he sat down with an air of satisfaction. Chichester did not smoke, but begged Malling to light up, and gave him a cigar.
”Coffee always does one good,” he said. ”It acts directly on the heart, and seems to strengthen the whole body. I have had a trying day.”
”You look tired,” said Malling.
The fact was that Chichester had never recovered the color he had so suddenly lost when they were discussing Mr. Harding.
”It's no wonder if I do,” rejoined Chichester, in a voice that sounded hopeless.
He drank some coffee, seemed to make a strong effort to recover himself, and, with more energy, said:
”I asked you here because I wanted to renew a pleasant acquaintances.h.i.+p, but also--you won't think me discourteous, I know--because--well, I had a purpose in begging you to come.”
”Won't you tell me what it is?”
The curate s.h.i.+fted in his armchair, clasped and unclasped his hands.
A mental struggle was evidently going on within him. Indeed, during the whole evening Malling had received from him a strong impression of combat, of confusion.
”I wanted to continue the discussion we began at Mr. Harding's the other day. You remember, I asked you not to tell him you were coming?”
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