in his past life that must on no account be discovered; but, poor man, he
had no secret at all.

"Well, Precentor, and how are you?" said Ronder, beaming at him over his
spectacles.

Ryle started. Ronder had come behind him. He liked the look of Ronder. He
always preferred fat men to thin; they were much less malicious, he
thought.

"Oh, thank you, Canon Ronder--very well, thank you. I didn't see you.
Quite spring weather. Are you going my way?"

"I'm off to see Bentinck-Major."

"Oh, yes, Bentinck-Major...."

Ryle's first thought was--"Now is Bentinck-Major likely to have anything
to say against me this afternoon?"

"I'm going up Orange Street too. It's the High School Governors' meeting,
you know."

"Oh, yes, of course."

The two men started up the hill together. Ronder surveyed the scene around
him with pleasure. Orange Street always satisfied his aesthetic sense. It
was the street of the doctors, the solicitors, the dentists, the bankers,
and the wealthier old maids of Polchester. The grey stone was of a
charming age, the houses with their bow-windows, their pillared porches,