“So it did not even go to Uncle Lance,” said Anna. “Shall you try the ‘Pursuivant’?”
“On the contrary, I shall put in the pepper and salt I regretted, and try the ‘Censor’.”
“Indeed?” observed his uncle, in a tone of surprise.
“Oh,” said Gerald coolly, “I have sent little things to the ‘Censor’ before, which they seem to regard in the light of pickles and laver.”
The ‘Censor’ was an able paper on the side of philosophical politics, and success in that quarter was a feather in the young man’s cap, though not quite the kind of feather his elders might have desired.
“Journalism is a kind of native air to us,” said Mrs. Grinstead, “but from ‘Pur.’”
“‘Pur’ is the element of your dear old world, Cherie,” said Gerald, “and here am I come to do your bidding in its precincts, for a whole long vacation.”
He spoke lightly, and with a pretty little graceful bow to his aunt, but there was something in his eyes and smile that conveyed to her a dread that he meant that he only resigned himself for the time and looked beyond.
“Uncle Lance is coming,” volunteered Adrian.
“Yes,” said Geraldine. “Chorister that he was, and champion of Church teaching that he is, he makes the cause of Christian education everywhere his own, and is coming down to see what he can do inexpensively with native talent for concert, or masque, or something—‘Robin Hood’ perhaps.”