"You are the Bishop's secretary?" asked Huddle, becoming
consciously deferential.
"His confidential secretary," answered Clovis. You may call me
Stanislaus; my other name doesn't matter. The Bishop and Colonel
Alberti may be here to lunch. I shall be here in any case."
It sounded rather like the programme of a Royal visit.
"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.
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