But that time was past. The High Street was crowded. Any one
might see them. They would take it for granted that the Precentor was of
the Archdeacon's party. And to be seen thus affectionately linked with the
Archdeacon just now, when his family affairs were in so strange a
disorder, when he himself was behaving so oddly, when, as it was
whispered, at the Jubilee Fair he had engaged in a scuffle of a most
disreputable kind. The word "Drink" was mentioned.
Ryle tried, every so gently, to disengage his arm. Brandon's hand was of
steel.
"This seems to me," the Archdeacon was continuing, "a most critical moment
in our Cathedral's history. If we don't stand together now we--we--"
The Archdeacon's hand relaxed. His eyes wandered. Ryle detached his arm.
How strange the man was! Why, there was Samuel Hogg on the other side of
the street!
He had taken his hat off and was smiling. How uncomfortable! How
unpleasant to be mixed in this kind of encounter! How Mrs. Ryle, would
dislike it if she knew!
But his mind was speedily taken off his own affairs. He was conscious of
the Archdeacon, standing at his full height, his eyes, as he afterwards
described it a thousand times, "bursting from his head.
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