If the rector became too prosy, she could surreptitiously finish a few notes.
He sank into a deep arm-chair close to the writing-table, crossed his somewhat bandy legs one over the other, made the tips of his fingers meet with unctuous accuracy, and intoned the opening sentences of his proposition.

Jane, sharpening pencils and sorting nibs, apparently only caught the drift of what he was saying, for when he had chanted the phrase, "Not alone from selfish motives, my dear Miss Champion; but for the good of my parish; for the welfare of my flock, for the advancement of the work of the church in our midst," Jane opened a despatch-box and drew out her cheque-book.
"I shall be delighted to subscribe, Mr.Bilberry," she said.

"Is it for a font, a pulpit, new hymn-books, or what ?" "My dear lady," said the rector tremulously, "you misunderstand me.

My desire is to lead you to the altar." "Dear Mr.Bilberry," said Jane Champion, "that would be quite unnecessary.

From any part of your church the fact that you need a new altar-cloth is absolutely patent to all comers.