the angel had finished his tea and was standing looking pensively out of the window. he thought the old church down the valley lit by the light of the setting sun was very beautiful, but he could not understand the serried ranks of tombstones that lay up the hillside beyond. he turned as mendham and the vicar came in.

now mendham could bully his vicar cheerfully enough, just as he could bully his congregation; but he was not the sort of man to bully a stranger. he looked at the angel, and the "strange woman" theory was disposed of. the angel's beauty was too clearly the beauty of the youth.

"mr hilyer tells me," mendham began, in an almost apologetic tone, "that you—ah—it's so curious—claim to be an angel."

"are an angel," said the vicar.

the angel bowed.

[pg 67]

"naturally," said mendham, "we are curious."

"very," said the angel. "the blackness and the shape."

"i beg your pardon?" said mendham.

"the blackness and the flaps," repeated the angel; "and no wings."

"precisely," said mendham, who was altogether at a loss. "we are, of course, curious to know something of how you came into the village in such a peculiar costume."

the angel looked at the vicar. the vicar touched his chin.

"you see," began the vicar.

"let him explain," said mendham; "i beg."

"i wanted to suggest," began the vicar.

"and i don't want you to suggest."

"bother!" said the vicar.

the angel looked from one to the other. "such rugose expressions flit across your faces!" he said.

"you see, mr—mr—i don't know your name," said mendham, with a certain diminution of suavity. "the case stands thus: my wife—four ladies, i might say—are playing lawn tennis,[pg 68] when you suddenly rush out on them, sir; you rush out on them from among the rhododendra in a very defective costume. you and mr hilyer."

"but i—" said the vicar.

"i know. it was this gentleman's costume was defective. naturally—it is my place in fact—to demand an explanation." his voice was growing in volume. "and i must demand an explanation."

the angel smiled faintly at his note of anger and his sudden attitude of determination—arms tightly folded.

"i am rather new to the world," the angel began.

"nineteen at least," said mendham. "old enough to know better. that's a poor excuse."

"may i ask one question first?" said the angel.

"well?"

"do you think i am a man—like yourself? as the chequered man did."

"if you are not a man—"

"one other question. have you never heard of an angel?"

[pg 69]

"i warn you not to try that story upon me," said mendham, now back at his familiar crescendo.

the vicar interrupted: "but mendham—he has wings!"

"please let me talk to him," said mendham.

"you are so quaint," said the angel; "you interrupt everything i have to say."

"but what have you to say?" said mendham.

"that i really am an angel...."

"pshaw!"

"there you go!"

"but tell me, honestly, how you came to be in the shrubbery of siddermorton vicarage—in the state in which you were. and in the vicar's company. cannot you abandon this ridiculous story of yours?..."

the angel shrugged his wings. "what is the matter with this man?" he said to the vicar.

"my dear mendham," said the vicar, "a few words from me...."

"surely my question is straightforward enough!"

"but you won't tell me the answer you want, and it's no good my telling you any other."

[pg 70]

"pshaw!" said the curate again. and then turning suddenly on the vicar, "where does he come from?"

the vicar was in a dreadful state of doubt by this time.

"he says he is an angel!" said the vicar. "why don't you listen to him?"

"no angel would alarm four ladies...."

"is that what it is all about?" said the angel.

"enough cause too, i should think!" said the curate.

"but i really did not know," said the angel.

"this is altogether too much!"

"i am sincerely sorry i alarmed these ladies."

"you ought to be. but i see i shall get nothing out of you two." mendham went towards the door. "i am convinced there is something discreditable at the bottom of this business. or why not tell a simple straightforward story? i will confess you puzzle me. why, in this enlightened age, you should tell this fantastic, this far-fetched story of an angel, altogether beats me. what good can it do?..."

[pg 71]

"but stop and look at his wings!" said the vicar. "i can assure you he has wings!"

mendham had his fingers on the door-handle. "i have seen quite enough," he said. "it may be this is simply a foolish attempt at a hoax, hilyer."

"but mendham!" said the vicar.

the curate halted in the doorway and looked at the vicar over his shoulder. the accumulating judgment of months found vent. "i cannot understand, hilyer, why you are in the church. for the life of me i cannot. the air is full of social movements, of economic change, the woman movement, rational dress, the reunion of christendom, socialism, individualism—all the great and moving questions of the hour! surely, we who follow the great reformer.... and here you are stuffing birds, and startling ladies with your callous disregard...."

"but mendham," began the vicar.

the curate would not hear him. "you shame the apostles with your levity.... but this is only a preliminary enquiry," he said, with a threatening note in his sonorous voice, and so vanished abruptly (with a violent slam) from the room.