Archie began to speak with a dogged intonation which recalled Harrow
days. As he indicated the scope of the sermon already written out, Mark
drummed with his foot upon the terrace.
"I know it," groaned the elder brother. "It will send the Dean to
sleep, and Lord Randolph will twiddle his thumbs, and my lady will smile
ironically--and Betty----"
"Yes."
"Betty will pity me."
A silence followed. Mark was reflecting that Betty's pity without
Betty's love would be hard to endure.
"You care for her?" he muttered.
"Oh, yes," said Archibald impatiently, "but she says 'No' to me and
everybody else. How I have loved that witch," his voice grew
sentimental, "and how I should like to show her that I can preach. And
so I can for ordinary occasions, but when it comes to a big
thing--somehow I don't score. I'd like to score this time--eh? And
if--if you could help me, why--why, it might make all the difference."
"About Betty?" Mark's voice was thin and strained, but Archie was too
engrossed with his own thoughts to notice that.
"Betty? I'm not thinking about Betty. I mean that next Sunday may be
the making or marring of my career.
"Oh!"
"I put my profession first, as you do, Mark. I can say to you what I
would admit to no other, that success in it is vital to me. I've worked
hard, and of course I've a pull over most fellows, for which I'm
sincerely grateful; but I've not your brains."
"It happens," said Mark after a slight pause, "that I have written a
sermon about Westchester Cathedral. You might find something in it; not
much, I dare say; but a hint or two. As--as I shall never preach it,
why--why shouldn't you have it?"
"I'd like to see it, Mark. Some of my best sermons have been
suggested--only suggested, mind you--by reading others. Robertson is a
gold-mine--and Newman. Where is your sermon?"
"Locked up in my desk at the Mission House."
"Oh!"
"I can nip up and get it," said Mark, after a pause.
"I couldn't allow that, Mark. You're on a holiday and----"
"There's stuff in that sermon," Mark interrupted. "I'd like you to see
it. Holiday be hanged! I'll fetch it to-morrow."
*CHAPTER XII*
*BETTY SPENDS AN HOUR IN STEPNEY*
Betty Kirtling came down to breakfast the next morning in her prettiest
frock, and with her prettiest smile upon a glowing face. Indeed, Lord
Randolph, meeting her in the hall, held up his thin, white hand, and
confessed himself dazzled. Betty laughed when he quoted a line of
Dryden, sensible that only a poet could do justice to her looks if they
reflected faithfully her feelings. Perhaps the philosopher, with his
faintly ironical smile, knew better than the poet that "the porcelain
clay of human kind" is easily broken, and (being a collector) he may
have remembered (which accounts for the shadows in his eyes) that rare
pieces seldom escape chipping. He followed the girl into the
dining-room, and saw that she seated herself next the chair which had
been taken by Mark the morning before. Mark, however, was not in the
room, his absence being accounted for by young Kirtling, who had met him
driving to the station.
"To the station?" echoed Betty.
Archibald Samphire added that he was charged by his brother to make the
proper excuses. Mark had gone to town on an important matter, and would
return that evening before dinner. Lady Randolph frowned.
"'Pon my soul," she exclaimed, "our young man takes himself too
seriously."
"He's the best and kindest fellow in the world," said Archie. Then he
hesitated. He could not explain the nature of Mark's errand without
exciting curiosity about himself and his sermon.
"What were you going to say?" whispered Betty.
"Mark has gone to town to do me a service," said Archie.