“So much the better.”
“I used to be rather keen on Rome, but I’ve a theory it’s generally a disappointment. However, I suppose I shall have to go one day.”
“Yes, I don’t think Rome ought to miss your patronage, Maurice.”
They parted as intimate friends, but while Michael was going downstairs from the studio he thought that it might very easily be for the last time.
His mother was at home for tea; lots of women and a bishop were having a committee about something. When they had all rustled away into the mellow June evening, Michael asked what had been accomplished.
“It’s this terrible state of the London streets,” said Mrs. Fane. “Something has got to be done about these miserable women. The Bishop of Chelsea has promised to bring in some kind of a bill in Parliament. He feels so strongly about it.”
“What does he feel?” Michael asked.
“Why, of course, that they shouldn’t be allowed.”
“The remedy lies with him,” Michael said. “He must take them the Sacraments.”
“My dearest boy, what are you talking about? He does his best. He’s always picking them up and driving them home in his brougham. He can’t do more than that. Really he quite thrilled us with some of his experiences.”