"Would you step this way," the butler requested. "His lordship is
waiting for you in the library."
The two culprits, for by this time Mark was oblivious of every other
emotion except one of profound guilt, guilt of what he could not say,
but most unmistakably guilt, walked along toward the Bishop's
library--Father Rowley like a fat and naughty child who knows he is
going to be reproved for eating too many tarts.
There was a studied poise in the attitude of the Bishop when they
entered. One shapely leg trailed negligently behind his chair ready at
any moment to serve as the pivot upon which its owner could swing round
again into the every-day world; the other leg firmly wedged against the
desk supported the burden of his concentration. The Bishop swung round
on the shapely leg in attendance, and in a single sweeping gesture
blotted the last page of the letter he had been writing and shook Father
Rowley by the hand.
"I am delighted to have an opportunity of meeting you, Mr. Rowley," he
began, and then paused a moment with an inquiring look at Mark.
"I thought you wouldn't mind, my lord, if I brought with me young
Lidderdale, who is reading for Holy Orders and working with us at St.
Agnes'. I am apt to forget sometimes exactly to what I have and have not
committed myself and I thought your lordship would not object.
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