Mr. Wilmot waved a pontifical good-bye and vanished in the direction of Kensington.
At home Michael told his mother of the adventure. She looked a little doubtful at his account of Mr. Wilmot.
“Oh, he’s all right, really, Mother. Only, you know, a little peculiar. But then he’s a poet.”
Next day came a letter from Mr. Wilmot.
205 Edwardes Square, W.
November.
Dear Mrs. Fane,
I must apologize for inviting your son to dinner so unceremoniously. But he made a great appeal to me, sitting on the top of a ladder in Elson’s Bookshop. I have a library, in which he may enjoy himself whenever he likes. Meanwhile, may he come to dinner with me on Friday next? Mr. Johnstone, the Member for West Kensington, is coming with his nephew who may be dull without Michael. Michael tells me he thinks of becoming an ecclesiastical lawyer. In that case Johnstone will be particularly useful, and can give him some hints. He’s a personal friend of old Dr. Brownjohn. With many apologies for my ‘impertinence,’
Yours very truly,
Arthur Wilmot.
“This is a perfectly sensible letter,” said Mrs. Fane.
“Perhaps I thought he was funnier than he really was. Does he say anything else except about me sitting on the top of a ladder?”