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Ronder was vexed with himself. He was certainly not at his best to-night.
He had realised the personalities that were around him, and yet had not
steered his boat among them with the dexterous skill that was usually his.
In his heart he cursed Foster for a meddling, cantankerous fanatic.
Rogers broke in. "I must say," he exclaimed in a strange shrill voice like
a peacock's, "that I associate myself with every word of Canon Foster's.
Whatever we may pretend in public, the great desire of our hearts is to
drive Brandon out of the place. The sooner we do it the better. It should
have been done long ago."
Martin spoke. "I'm sorry," he said. "If I had known that this meeting was
to be a personal attack on the Archdeacon, I never would have come. I
don't think the diocese has a finer servant than Archdeacon Brandon. I
admire him immensely. He has made mistakes. So do we all of course. But I
have the highest opinion of his character, his work and his importance
here, and I would like every one in the room to know that before we go any
further."
"That's right.


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