"Ah, poor thing!" said Miss Arminster. "It must have taken away from your pleasure to feel that she was suffering such great discomfort on your account."

"Lord Downton didn't specify my sister. He only said 'some lady'; and so I thought if you--"

"Oh, that's just sweet of you!" exclaimed his companion. "I'm sure I should adore yachting. It's something I've always wanted to do."

"Then we'll consider it settled," said the Bishop.

"But Miss Matilda?"

"Ah, yes," admitted his Lordship. "That's just the trouble. You see my dilemma."

"Of course!" Violet responded promptly, understanding that he wished to be helped out. "If your sister knew you were going, she'd feel it her duty to accompany you, and the trip would be spoilt for you by her sufferings. So, out of your affection for her, you think it would be better if we were just quietly to slip off to-morrow and send her a wire from Dullhampton."

The Bishop was delighted. Miss Matilda never accepted him at his own valuation.

"So, just on your account," continued his companion demurely, "I won't say a word, though I hate any form of concealment."

"H'm--naturally," said the Bishop.

"But since it's for your dear sister's sake--"

"We'll take the eleven-fifty train to-morrow," replied his Lordship.

And here his remarks were cut short from the fact that in suddenly rounding a corner he had planted his foot on the rec.u.mbent form of Marchmont.

"Hullo!" said that gentleman, sitting up, and adding, as he rubbed his eyes to get them wider open, "permit me to inform you that this part of the ground is strictly preserved."

"Who are you, sir?" demanded the Bishop.

"Come," said the stranger cheerfully, "we'll make a bargain. I'll tell you who you are, if you'll tell me who I am."

"I do not see how that is possible--" began his Lordship.

"Well, I'll begin," said Marchmont. "You're the Bishop of Blanford and I'm your son's greatest benefactor."

"Really, you surprise me. May I enquire how you've benefited him?"

"I made the fame of his book, 'The Purple Kangaroo.' I've been sending you my editorials on the subject for some weeks past."

"Are you the person who wrote those scandalous leaders which have been forwarded to me from America?" demanded the Bishop.

"I thought you'd remember them," said the journalist. "They're eye-openers, aren't they?"

His Lordship drew himself up and put on his most repressive manner, but Marchmont babbled on serenely.

"The last time I saw Cecil he said to me: 'Whenever you come to England, Marchmont, you just drop round to the palace, and we'll make things hum.' So, having a chance for a little vacation, I jumped on board a steamer, crossed to Southampton, and biked up-country, doing these ruins on the way. I meant to have presented myself at the palace this afternoon in due form and a swallow-tailed coat, but I'm just as much pleased to see you as if I'd been regularly introduced."

"You're one of the most consummate liars I ever knew," remarked Cecil, who, hearing voices, had strolled over to see what it was all about.

"Put it more mildly, my dear fellow," replied the American. "Call me a journalist, and spare your father's feelings."

"Well, now you're here, what do you intend to do?" demanded Banborough.

"Do?" said Marchmont. "Why, I'm going to put up for a week at your 'Pink Pig,' or your 'Azure Griffin,' or whatever kind of nondescript-coloured animal your local hostelry boasts, and study your charming cathedral.

But, in the first place, I think we'd better have some lunch. I'm as hungry as a bear."

"I fear we've scarcely provided for an extra guest," returned Cecil frigidly. The journalist was the very last person he wanted to see at Blanford, and he did not take any pains to disguise the fact.

Marchmont, however, was not to be snubbed, and remarking cheerfully that there was always enough for one more, calmly proceeded in the direction of the hampers. Once there, he const.i.tuted himself chef and butler forthwith, and moreover proved so efficient in both capacities that, irritated as his friend was at his self-a.s.surance, he could not but express his appreciation.

Marchmont, having started the rest of the people on their lunch and made all feel at their ease, turned on his journalistic tap for the benefit of the Bishop, and plied the old gentleman with such a judicious mixture of flattery and amusing anecdote that, by the time the repast was over, his Lordship was solemnly a.s.suring his son, much to that young gentleman's disgust, that he was indeed fortunate in possessing such a delightful friend, and that he might invite Mr. Marchmont to the palace if he liked.

"Quite so," said Cecil. "I suppose you remember his article in the _Daily Leader_, in which he alluded to you as a 'consecrated fossil'?"

"H'm!" said the Bishop. "Really, the accommodation at the inn is very good, and perhaps, with so many guests, it would be asking too much of your aunt."

"What does all this mean?" asked Spotts of Banborough when a convenient opportunity offered.

The Bishop's son shrugged his shoulders, replying:

"It means mischief."

CHAPTER III.

IN WHICH PEACE IS PROPOSED AND WAR DECLARED.

Marchmont stood on the lawn before the palace, on the morning after his arrival, critically inspecting that structure; his feet stretched wide apart, his hands in his pockets, and his hat on the back of his head.

Cecil, emerging from breakfast, sighted his enemy and made haste to join him.

"Jolly old rookery you've got," remarked the reporter.

"Yes," said Banborough. "It was a monastery originally. They turned it into a bishop's palace about the reign of Henry VIII."

"I know that style," said the American. "Nice rambling ark, two stories high, and no two rooms on the same level. Architect built right out into the country till he got tired, and then turned round and came back.

Obliged to have a valet to show you to your room whether you're sober or not."

"I didn't know," said Cecil drily, "that you possessed an extensive acquaintance in ecclesiastical circles in this country."

"Oh, yes," said Marchmont, "I served as valet for six months to a bishop while I was gathering materials for my articles on 'English Sees Seen from the Inside.'"

"Was it a financial success?" queried Banborough.

"No," admitted the reporter regretfully, "it sold the paper splendidly, but was stopped at the second article at the request of the American amba.s.sador."