He looked pale, and rubbed his hand over his face and pushed back his hair oftener than usual.

Standing in the aisle close to him, and repeating the responses with edifying loudness, was Mr.Budd, churchwarden and delegate, with a white staff in his hand and a backward bend of his small head and person, such as, I suppose, he considered suitable to a friend of sound religion.

Conspicuous in the gallery, too, was the tall figure of Mr.Dempster, whose professional avocations rarely allowed him to occupy his place at church.
'There's Dempster,' said Mrs.Linnet to her daughter Mary, 'looking more respectable than usual, I declare.

He's got a fine speech by heart to make to the Bishop, I'll answer for it.

But he'll be pretty well sprinkled with snuff before service is over, and the Bishop won't be able to listen to him for sneezing, that's one comfort.' At length the last stage in the long ceremony was over, the large assembly streamed warm and weary into the open afternoon sunshine, and the Bishop retired to the Parsonage, where, after honouring Mrs.Crewe's collation, he was to give audience to the delegates and Mr.Tryan on the great question of the evening lecture.
Between five and six o'clock the Parsonage was once more as quiet as usual under the shadow of its tall elms, and the only traces of the Bishop's recent presence there were the wheel marks on the gravel, and the long table with its garnished dishes awry, its damask sprinkled with crumbs, and its decanters without their stoppers.