Before
she could utter them, Mrs. Bishop entered the room.
"Samuel," she said, "I've written my letter to Lady Bray. I've asked
her to come on the seventeenth. You'd better write yours and enclose
it with mine. You know what to say. I mean you know what sort of thing
she likes from you. I've also written and asked the Colles's to come
to dinner on the eighteenth to meet her. They're sure to accept if
they know they're going to meet her, and I think they ought to be
useful. Write your letter now, will you?"
The Rev. Samuel nodded assent. "I will," he added.
Then he turned to his daughter. "Good-bye, Sally."
She put her hands on his shoulders--knowing all his frailty--and
kissed him. Then she walked out of the room.
When she had closed the door, the clergyman sat down again to his
desk and read again through the sentences he had read to Sally.
"I suppose she didn't think it very true," he said to himself, "but
it is--it is true--its pomps and its vanities, ah--"
Then he took out a sheet of note-paper, and picking up his pen, he
began--
"My dear Lady Bray--"
CHAPTER VI
When Sally stepped off the 'bus at Knightsbridge on that November
evening, her mind was seething with indignation.
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