They were there in spirit if not in fact.
"Is the Canon in?" Ronder asked of a small and gaping page-boy.
He was in, it appeared. Would he see Canon Ronder? The page-boy
disappeared and Ronder was able to observe three family trees framed in
oak, a large china bowl with visiting-cards, and a huge round-faced clock
that, even as he waited there, pompously announced that half-hour.
Presently the Canon, like a shining Ganymede, came flying into the hall.
"My dear Ronder! But this is delightful. A little early for tea, perhaps.
Indeed, my wife is, for the moment, out. What do you say to the library?"
Ronder had nothing to say against the library, and into it they went. A
fine room with books in leather bindings, high windows, an oil painting of
the Canon as a smart young curate, a magnificent writing-table, _The
Spectator_ and _The Church Times_ near the fireplace, and two deep
leather arm-chairs. Into these last two the clergymen sank.
Bentinck-Major put his fingers together, crossed his admirable legs, and
looked interrogatively at his visitor.
"I'm lucky to catch you at home," said Ronder.
Pages:
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187