Miss Huddle was the first to rally; she disliked thunderbolts as
fervently as her brother did, but the womanly instinct in her told
her that thunderbolts must be fed.
"We can curry the cold duck," she said. It was not the appointed
day for curry, but the little orange envelope involved a certain
departure from rule and custom. Her brother said nothing, but his
eyes thanked her for being brave.
"A young gentleman to see you," announced the parlour-maid.
"The secretary!" murmured the Huddles in unison; they instantly
stiffened into a demeanour which proclaimed that, though they held
all strangers to be guilty, they were willing to hear anything
they might have to say in their defence. The young gentleman, who
came into the room with a certain elegant haughtiness, was not at
all Huddle's idea of a bishop's secretary; he had not supposed
that the episcopal establishment could have afforded such an
expensively upholstered article when there were so many other
claims on its resources. The face was fleetingly familiar; if he
had bestowed more attention on the fellow-traveller sitting
opposite him in the railway carriage two days before he might have
recognized Clovis in his present visitor.
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