A worthy fellow, I dare say, though
suspicious of strangers."
Parson Chichester felt pretty much of a fool, and the more annoyed
because unable to detect anything offensive in the tone of the rebuke--
if, indeed, a rebuke had been implied.
"Folk in these parts see few strange faces," he said lamely.
"It was the kinder of you to offer me a lift. I had heard, by the way,
that Sir Miles's butler did not come from these parts, but was a
much-travelled man."
"That is so."
Mr. Chichester felt that he was getting very markedly the worst of this
conversation, and decided to let it drop. But just as he had arrived at
this decision the stranger faced around and asked--
"Perhaps _you_ know Sir Miles's present address?"
At this point-blank question Mr. Chichester's face grew very red indeed.
He had brought it on himself. Denial was useless.
"Perhaps I do," he answered. "But you were going to ask Miss Sally for
it, and we will leave it to her."
"Quite right," the stranger assented. "Here is my own card, though it
will convey nothing to you."
But it conveyed a great deal. Parson Chichester reached across with his
disengaged right hand, took the card and read--
The Reverend Purdie J.
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