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Both Brandon and Ronder felt that it was right for them to go, although on a normal day they would have stayed walking in the garden and talking for another three-quarters of an hour until it was time to catch the three- thirty train from Carpledon. Mr. Ponting settled the situation. "His lordship," he said, "hopes that you will let Bassett drive you into Polchester.
Canon Ronder and I you must have known of whom I have been speaking had a violent quarrel one afternoon on the way home after luncheon with you at Carpledon. This quarrel became, in one way or another, the town's property. Ronder affected to like me, but it was impossible now for him to hide his real intentions towards me. This thing began to be an obsession with me. I tried to prevent this.
A better man, a greater saint than Bishop Purcell has never lived, but in 1896 he was eighty-six years of age and preferred study and the sanctity of his wonderful library at Carpledon to the publicity and turmoil of a public career; Dean Sampson, gentle and amiable as he was, was not intended by nature for a moulder of men.
"Have I disregarded you?" "Of course you have," she answered, laughing. "Well, we'll see," he said. He bent down and kissed her, then left the room. He left to catch the train to Carpledon in a self-satisfied mind.
"I've never been to Carpledon before to-day. I especially appreciated his inviting me when he was having so old a friend as yourself." Another silence. Ronder looked about him; the afternoon was hot, and little beads of perspiration formed on his forehead. One trickled down his forehead, another into his eye.
The Mayor called a meeting of the town branch of the Committee, and the Bishop out at Carpledon summoned his ecclesiastics, and Joan found a note from Gladys Sampson beckoning her to the Sampson house to do her share of the glorious work.
It was now three weeks since that luncheon at Carpledon, and in one way or another the quarrel on the road home the absurd and ludicrous quarrel had become known to the whole town. Had Brandon revealed it? Or possibly the coachman? Whoever it was, every one now knew and laughed. Laughed! It was that for which Ronder would never forgive Brandon.
The peace of centuries lay upon this land, and the sun with loving hands caressed its warm flanks as though here, at least, was some one of whom it might be sure, some one known from old time. The little station at Carpledon was merely a wooden shed.
He could not think at all. He was given over to devils. After Matins in the Cathedral next day one thought came to him. He would go and see the Bishop. The Bishop had come in from Carpledon for the Jubilee celebrations and was staying at the Deanery. Brandon spoke to him for a moment after Matins and asked him whether he might see him for half an hour in the afternoon on a matter of great urgency.
Three days after Falk's escape he was having breakfast alone with Joan. "Mother has a headache," Joan said. "She's not coming down." He nodded, scarcely looking up from his paper. In a little while she said: "What are you doing to-day, daddy? I'm very sorry to bother you, but I'm housekeeping to-day, and I have to arrange about meals " "I'm lunching at Carpledon," he said, putting his paper down.
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