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.

"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.

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 hea