"Ogilvie--Stephen Ogilvie. My dear boy, it's we who ought to be ashamed
of ourselves for not having had the gumption to enlighten you. How on
earth were you to know without asking? Now, look here, I must run. I
expect you'll be wanting to get home, or I'd suggest your staying until
I get back, but I must lie low after tea and think out my sermon. Look
here, come over to lunch on Saturday, haven't you a bicycle? You could
get over from Slowbridge by one o'clock, and after lunch we'll have a
good tramp in the woods. Splendid!"
Then chanting the _Dies Irae_ in a cheerful tenor the Reverend Stephen
Ogilvie hurried off to his Sunday School. Mark said good-bye to Mrs.
Ogilvie with an assured politeness that was typical of his new found
ease; and when he started on his long walk back to Slowbridge he felt
inclined to leap in the air and wake with shouts the slumberous Sabbath
afternoon, proclaiming the glory of life, the joy of living.
Mark had not expected his uncle to welcome his friendship with the Vicar
of Meade Cantorum; but he had supposed that after a few familiar sneers
he should be allowed to go his own way with nothing worse than silent
disapproval brooding over his perverse choice. He was surprised by the
vehemence of his uncle's opposition, and it must be added that he
thoroughly enjoyed it.
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