He was walking with his old energetic stride, his head up, his black overcoat flapping behind him, his eyes sharply investigating in and out and all round him.

He saw Seymour, but did not recognise him, and would have passed on.
"You don't know me ?" said Seymour, holding out his hand.
"I beg your pardon, I----" said Canon Lasher.
"Seymour--Hugh Seymour--whom you were once kind enough to look after at Clinton St.Mary." "Why! Fancy! Indeed.

My dear boy.

My dear boy!" Mr.Lasher was immensely cordial in exactly his old, healthy, direct manner.

He insisted that Seymour should come with him and drink a cup of tea.