"Well? "he said.
"May I make so bold, sir, as to arst when Mr. Angel is a-going?" (Cough.)
The Vicar started. "To ask when Mr. Angel is going?" he repeated slowly to gain time. "Another!"
"I'm sorry, sir. But I've been used to waitin' on gentlefolks, sir; and you'd hardly imagine how it feels quite to wait on such as 'im."
"Such as … 'im! Do I understand you, Mrs. Hinijer, that you don't like Mr. Angel?"
"You see, sir, before I came to you, sir, I was at Lord Dundoller's seventeen years, and you, sir—if you will excuse me—are a perfect gentleman yourself, sir—though in the Church. And then …"
"Dear, dear!" said the Vicar. "And don't you regard Mr. Angel as a gentleman?"
"I'm sorry to 'ave to say it, sir."
"But what …? Dear me! Surely!"
"I'm sorry to 'ave to say it, sir. But when a party goes turning vegetarian suddenly and putting out all the cooking, and hasn't no proper luggage of his own, and borry's shirts and socks from his 'ost, and don't know no better than to
