d All Angels; and
every day when dinner was over, his little nephew slipped from his chair,
and stood with his hands behind him to recite his _rego regere_; then
there were always his flies and rods to keep in order against the season
when he and the rector started on long fishing tramps; and in the
evenings, when Willie had gone to bed, and his cook was reading "The
Death Beds of Eminent Saints" by the kitchen fire, Mr. Denner worked out
chess problems by himself in his library, or read Cavendish and thought
of next Saturday; and besides all this, he went once a week to Mercer,
and sat waiting for clients in a dark back office, while he studied his
weekly paper.

But though there seemed plenty to do, sometimes Mr. Denner would sigh,
and say to himself that it was somewhat lonely, and Mary was certainly
severe. He supposed that was because she had no mistress to keep an eye
on her.

These weekly games of whist were a great pleasure to him. The library at
the rectory was cheerful, and there was a feeling of importance in
playing a game at which the rector and Mrs. Dale only looked on. It was
understood that the gentlemen might smoke, though the formality of asking
permission of the ladies, and being urged by them, always took place. Mr.
Denner's weekly remark to the Misses Woodhouse in this connection, as he
stood ready to strike a match on the hearth of the big fireplace, was
well known. "When ladies," he would say, bowing to each sister in turn,
with his little heels close together and his toes turned well out,--"when
ladies are so charitable to our vices, we will not reform, lest we lose
the pleasure of being forgiven." Mr. Denner smoked a cigar, but Mr. Dale
always drew from his pocket a quaint silver pipe, very long and slender,
and with an odd suggestion of its owner about it; for he was tall and
frail, and his thin white hair, combed back from his mild face, had a
silvery gleam in the lamplight. Often the pipe would be between the pages
of a book, from the leaves of which Lois would have to shake the loose
ashes before putting it back in his pocket.

The whist party sat in high-backed chairs about a square mahogany table,
whose shining top betokened much muscle on the part of Sally. At each
corner was a candle in a tall silver candlestick, because Miss Deborah
objected to a shadow on the board, which would have been cast by a
hanging lamp. The August night was hot, and doors and windows were open
for any breath