``The Bishop is examining a confirmation class in the
neighbourhood, isn't he?'' asked Miss Huddle.
``Ostensibly,'' was the dark reply, followed by a request
for a large-scale map of the locality.
Clovis was still immersed in a seemingly profound study of
the map when another telegram arrived. It was addressed to
``Prince Stanislaus, care of Huddle, The Warren, etc.''
Clovis glanced at the contents and announced: ``The Bishop
and Alberti won't be here till late in the afternoon.'' Then
he returned to his scrutiny of the map.
The luncheon was not a very festive function. The
princely secretary ate and drank with fair appetite, but
severely discouraged conversation. At the finish of the
meal he broke suddenly into a radiant smile, thanked his
hostess for a charming repast, and kissed her hand with
deferential rapture. Miss Huddle was unable to decide in
her mind whether the action savoured of Louis Quatorzian
courtliness or the reprehensible Roman attitude towards the
Sabine women. It was not her day for having a headache, but
she felt that the circumstances excused her, and retired to
her room to have as much headache as was possible before the
Bishop's arrival.
Pages:
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68