Miss Wepley rarely had recourse
to her lozenges, but in case she should be taken with a fit of
coughing she wished to have the emergency duly provided for. On
this particular Sunday the lozenges occasioned an unusual
diversion in the even tenor of her devotions, far more disturbing
to her personally than a prolonged attack of coughing would have
been. As she rose to take part in the singing of the first hymn,
she fancied that she saw the hand of her neighbour, who was alone
in the pew behind her, make a furtive downward grab at the packet
lying on the seat; on turning sharply round she found that the
packet had certainly disappeared, but Mr. Lington was to all
outward seeming serenely intent on his hymnbook. No amount of
interrogatory glaring on the part of the despoiled lady could
bring the least shade of conscious guilt to his face.
"Worse was to follow," as she remarked afterwards to a scandalized
audience of friends and acquaintances. "I had scarcely knelt in
prayer when a lozenge, one of my lozenges, came whizzing into the
pew, just under my nose. I turned round and stared, but Mr.
Lington had his eyes closed and his lips moving as though engaged
in prayer.
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