"
"Don't disturb yourselves, you foolish geese," said Father Rowley
rising. "I'm not going to sit through another act. Come along, Mark,
come along, come along. I am not happy. I am not happy," he cried in an
absurd falsetto.
Then roaring with laughter at his own imitation of Melisande, he went
rolling out of the theatre and sniffed contentedly the air of the
Strand.
"I told Lady Pechell we shouldn't arrive till tea-time, so we'd better
go and ride on the top of a bus as far as the city."
It was an exhilarating ride, although Mark found that Father Rowley
occupied much more than half of the seat for two. About five o'clock
they came to the shadowy house in Portman Square in which they were to
stay till Monday. The Missioner was as much at home here as he was at
Silchester College or in a railway compartment full of bluejackets. He
knew as well how to greet the old butler as Lady Pechell and her sister
Mrs. Mannakay, to all of whom equally his visit was an obvious delight.
Not even Father Rowley's bulk could dwarf the proportions of that double
drawing-room or of that heavy Victorian furniture. He took his place
among the cases of stuffed humming birds and glass-topped tables of
curios, among the brocade curtains with shaped vallances and golden
tassels, among the chandeliers and lacquered cabinets and cages of
avadavats, sitting there like a great Buddha while he chatted to the two
old ladies of a society that seemed to Mark as remote as the people in
_Pelleas and Melisande_.
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