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Theology was written all over his person and he wore the conventional clerical hat which, owing to his absurdly small face, had the unfortunate appearance of being several sizes too large for him. Miss Deetle was a gaunt and angular spinster who had an unhappy trick of talking with a jerk.
Percival Pontifex Beetle and his sister Miss Jane Beetle prided themselves on being leaders in the best social circle in Massapequa. The incumbent of the local Presbyterian church, the Rev. Deetle, was a thin, sallow man of about thirty-five. He had a diminutive face with a rather long and very pointed nose which gave a comical effect to his physiognomy.
Rossmore, who thought rightly that the quickest way to get rid of her unwelcome visitors was to hurry downstairs as quickly as possible. "Miss Deetle Mr. Deetle. I am much honoured," was her not too effusive greeting. The Reverend Pontifex, anxious to make a favourable impression, was all smiles and bows. The idea of a possible scandal had for the moment ceased to worry him.
Who were these strangers that intruded on her privacy offering a consolation she did not want? Miss Deetle, as if glad of the opportunity to joke at her brother's expense, said explosively: "My dear Pontifex, you have already offered a strawberry festival which Mrs. Rossmore has been unable to accept." "Well, what of it?" demanded Mr. Deetle, glaring at his sister for the irrelevant interruption.
Rossmore, who thought rightly that the quickest way to get rid of her unwelcome visitors was to hurry downstairs as quickly as possible. "Miss Deetle Mr. Deetle. I am much honoured," was her not too effusive greeting. The Reverend Pontifex, anxious to make a favourable impression, was all smiles and bows. The idea of a possible scandal had for the moment ceased to worry him.
Their neighbours don't know much about them. They say they're haughty and stuck up. The only one I could get anything out of was a parson named Deetle. He said it was a sad case, that they had reverses and a daughter who was in Paris " "Yes, yes," said Ryder impatiently, "we know all that. But where's the daughter now?" "Search me, sir. I even tried to pump the Irish slavey. Gee, what a vixen!
Theology was written all over his person and he wore the conventional clerical hat which, owing to his absurdly small face, had the unfortunate appearance of being several sizes too large for him. Miss Deetle was a gaunt and angular spinster who had an unhappy trick of talking with a jerk.
Percival Pontifex Deetle and his sister Miss Jane Deetle prided themselves on being leaders in the best social circle in Massapequa. The incumbent of the local Presbyterian church, the Rev. Deetle, was a thin, sallow man of about thirty-five. He had a diminutive face with a rather long and very pointed nose which gave a comical effect to his physiognomy.
"You are both most kind," murmured Mrs. Rossmore; "but we could not accept in any case. My daughter is returning home from Paris next week." "Ah, your daughter you have a daughter?" exclaimed Mr. Deetle, grasping at the slightest straw to add to his stock of information. "Coming from Paris, too! Such a wicked city!"
Brushing past Eudoxia, who vainly tried to close the door, the Rev. Deetle coolly entered the house, followed by his sister, and took a seat in the parlour. "She'll blame me for this," wailed the girl, who had not budged and who stood there fingering the Rev. Deetle's card. "Blame you? For what?" demanded the clerical visitor in surprise.
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