“Oh! there was some mistake about the rooms; it’s the secretary’s fault; you mustn’t blame me.”
Lady Laura cried out her dismay and disappointment, and Mrs. Stapleton played chorus. It was too tiresome, they said, too provoking, particularly just now, when “Annie” was so complacent. ( Mrs. Stapleton explained kindly to the two young gentlemen that “Annie” was a spirit who had lately made various very interesting revelations.) What was to be done? Were there no other rooms?
Mr. Vincent shook his head. It was too late, he said, to make arrangements now.
While the ladies continued to buzz, and Mr. Jamieson to listen from the extreme edge of his chair, Laurie continued to make mental comments. He felt distinctly puzzled by the marked difference between the prophet and his disciples. These were so shallow; this so impressive by the most ordinary of all methods, and the most difficult of imitation, that is, by sheer human personality. He could not grasp the least common multiple of the two sides. Yet this man tolerated these women, and, indeed, seemed very kind and friendly towards them. He seemed to possess that sort of competence which rises from the fact of having well-arranged ideas and complete certitude about them.
And at last a pause came. Mr. Vincent set down his cup for the second time, refused buttered bun, and waited.
“Yes, do smoke, Mr. Vincent.”
The man drew out his cigarette-case, smiling, offering it to the two men. Laurie took one; the clergyman refused.
“And now, Mr. Vincent.”
Again he smiled, in a half-embarrassed way.