ster, indignantly, "is not to argue at all. It
is a case of _Roma locuta_."

"Ow, yes, just sow, you know, we down't argue, we simply assert the
truth."

"How d'ye like the Durham mustard, Wilks, my boy?" put in Coristine from
the rear, where he and Mr. Errol were laughing amusedly; "it's hot,
isn't it, not much solid food, but lots of flavour? It reminds me of The
Crew, when he said what was, is, and ever shall be, Amen. Mr. Perrowne
is the owner of a splendid dog, and he is a splendid dogmatist. What he
doesn't know isn't worth knowing."

"Ow, thanks awfully, Mr. Coristine, you are really too flattering!"
gravely and gratefully replied the parson. Wilkinson was afraid that his
friend's banter might become too apparent, as the simple egotism of the
graduate of Durham led him on, so, he changed the subject, and soon had
the cleric quoting Virgil and Mrs. Hemans.

Meanwhile Coristine and Mr. Errol were taking one another's measure. The
lawyer recited to his companion the conversation between Marjorie and
himself relative to Timotheus. He found that Errol knew Marjorie, who
had often been in his church and Sunday school in Flanders. "She's a
comical little piece," he said; "her Sunday school teacher asked her who
killed Goliath? and what do you think was her reply!"

"Give it up."

"It was 'Jack,' no less than Jack the Giant-Killer."

"The darlin'!" cried the lawyer, with admiration, and straightway won
the minister's heart.

"Marjorie has a cousin stopping at the house of Mr. Carruthers, one of
my elders, since last Tuesday night, as blithe and bonnie a young leddy
as man could wish to see. While she's here, she's just the light of the
whole country side."

Mr. Coristine did not care for this turn in the conversation.

"Tell me some more about little Marjorie," he said.

"Ah," replied the minister, "then you know that her cousin is called
Marjorie, too! Little Marjorie went to church once with Miss Du Plessis,
whom Perrowne had got to sing in the choir, that was last summer, if I
mind right, and, when the two rideeclus candles on the altar were
lighted, and the priest, as he calls himself, came in with his surplice
on, she put her face down in Miss Cecile's lap. 'What's the trouble,
Marjorie?' asked Miss Du Plessis, bending over her. 'He's going to kiss
us all good-night,' sobbed the wee thing. 'No he is not, Marjorie; he's
on his knees, praying,' replied the young leddy, soothingly. 'That's
what papa alway