began to take the service. His powerful voice was pitched low, as if he were also self-conscious. His damaged eye was no longer badly swollen but was of many colours. When at last he went into the pulpit and began his sermon, he chose to preach on pride—the deadliest of sins; and he did not pull his punches. As he talked, his voice grew more powerful and he completely lost himself.
Afterwards, Anstruther caught a glimpse of Rollison and smiled and cocked a thumb, a surprising gesture from the old man. Isobel was beaming. The
Chumley hung back until he saw Rollison.
“I’m sorry we didn’t see eye-to-eye, Mr Rollison,” he began.
“Bygones are really bygones,” declared the Toff. “You and Kemp ought to swap ideas.”
“He’ll probably force his on me!” said Chumley, wryly. “And so,” said Rollison to Jolly, as they made their way homewards, “everything in the garden is lovely until Old Nick pops his head up again.”
Jolly smiled, benignly.
“If I may use the expression, sir, I think that when he does, Kemp will dot him one vigorously. Don’t you agree sir?”
The End
