The Works of H. G. Wells (Atlantic Edition)/The Wonderful Visit/Chapter 20
§ 20
The Curate stood in front of the looking-glass and solemnly divested himself of his collar.
"I never heard a more fantastic story," said Mrs. Mendham from the basket chair. "The man must be mad. Are you sure———"
"Perfectly, my dear. I've told you every word, every incident———"
"Well!" said Mrs. Mendham, and spread her hands. "There's no sense in it."
"Precisely, my dear."
"The Vicar," said Mrs. Mendham, "must be mad."
"This hunchback is certainly one of the strangest creatures I've seen for a long time. Foreign looking, with a big bright-coloured face and long brown hair… It can't have been cut for months!" The Curate put his studs carefully upon the shelf of the dressing-table. "And a kind of staring look about his eyes, and a simpering smile. Quite a silly-looking person. Effeminate."
"But who can he be?" said Mrs. Mendham.
"I can't imagine, my dear. Nor where he came from. He might be a chorister or something of that sort."
"But why should he be about the shrubbery… in that dreadful costume?"
"I don't know. The Vicar gave me no explanation. He simply said, 'Mendham, this is an Angel.'"
"I wonder if he drinks… They may have been bathing near the spring, of course," reflected Mrs. Mendham. "But I noticed no other clothes on his arm."
The Curate sat down on his bed and unlaced his boots.
"It's a perfect mystery to me, my dear." (Flick, flick of laces.) "Hallucination is the only charitable———"
"You are sure, George, that it was not a woman."
"Perfectly," said the Curate.
"I know what men are, of course."
"It was a young man of nineteen or twenty," said the Curate.
"I can't understand it," said Mrs. Mendham. "You say the creature is staying at the Vicarage?"
"Hillyer is simply mad," said the Curate. He got up and went padding round the room to the door to put out his boots. "To judge by his manner you would really think he believed this cripple was an angel. Are your shoes out, dear?"
"They're just by the wardrobe," said Mrs. Mendham. "He always was a little queer, you know. There was always something childish about him… An angel!"
The Curate came and stood by the fire, fumbling with his braces. Mrs. Mendham liked a fire even in the summer. "He shirks all the serious problems in life and is always trifling with some new foolishness," said the Curate. "Angel, indeed!" He laughed suddenly. "Hillyer must be mad," he said.
Mrs. Mendham laughed too. "Even that doesn't explain the hunchback," she said.
"The hunchback must be mad, too," said the Curate.
"It's the only way of explaining it in a sensible way", said Mrs. Mendham. [Pause.]
"Angel or no angel," said Mrs. Mendham, "I know what is due to me. Even supposing the man thought he was in the company of an angel, that is no reason why he should not behave like a gentleman."
"That is perfectly true."
"You will write to the Bishop, of course?"
Mendham coughed. "No, I shan't write to the Bishop," said Mendham. "I think it seems a little disloyal… And he took no notice of the last, you know."
"But surely———"
"I shall write to Austin. In confidence. He will be sure to tell the Bishop, you know. And you must remember, my dear———"
"That Hillyer can dismiss you, you were going to say. My dear, the man's much too weak! I should have a word to say about that. And besides, you do all his work for him. Practically, we manage the parish from end to end. I do not know what would become of the poor if it was not for me. They'd have free quarters in the Vicarage to-morrow. There is that Goody Ansell———"
"I know, my dear," said the Curate, turning away and proceeding with his undressing. "You were telling me about her only this afternoon."