I won't have
it----"
Miss Stiles rose, her fingers trembling as she drew on her gloves.
"Well, I won't stay here to be insulted, anyway. You may have known me a
number of years, Betsy, but that doesn't allow you _all_ the
privileges. The only matter with me is that I say what I think. You
started the business, I believe, by insulting my friends."
"Sit down, Ellen," said Mrs. Combermere, laughing. "Don't be a fool. Who's
insulting your friends? You'd insult them yourself if they were only
successful enough. You can have your Ronder."
The door opened and the maid announced: "Canon Ronder."
Every one was conscious of the dramatic fitness of this, and no one more
so than Mrs. Combermere. Ronder entered the room, however, quite unaware
of anything apparently, except that he was feeling very well and expected
amusement from his company. He presented precisely the picture of a nice
contented clergyman who might be baffled by a school treat but was
thoroughly "up" to afternoon tea. He seemed a little stouter than when he
had first come to Polchester, and his large spectacles were as round as
two young moons.
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