"Are you the person who wrote those scandalous leaders which have been forwarded to me from America?" demanded the Bishop.
"I thought you'd remember them," said the journalist. "They're eye-openers, aren't they?"
His Lordship drew himself up and put on his most repressive manner, but Marchmont babbled on serenely.
"The last time I saw Cecil he said to me: 'Whenever you come to England, Marchmont, you just drop round to the palace, and we'll make things hum.' So, having a chance for a little vacation, I jumped on board a steamer, crossed to Southampton, and biked up-country, doing these ruins on the way. I meant to have presented myself at the palace this afternoon in due form and a swallow-tailed coat, but I'm just as much pleased to see you as if I'd been regularly introduced."
"You're one of the most consummate liars I ever knew," remarked Cecil, who, hearing voices, had strolled over to see what it was all about.
"Put it more mildly, my dear fellow," replied the American. "Call me a journalist, and spare your father's feelings."
"Well, now you're here, what do you intend to do?" demanded Banborough.
"Do?" said Marchmont. "Why, I'm going to put up for a week at your 'Pink Pig,' or your 'Azure Griffin,' or whatever kind of nondescript-coloured animal your local hostelry boasts, and study your charming cathedral. But, in the first place, I think we'd better have some lunch. I'm as hungry as a bear."
"I fear we've scarcely provided for an extra guest," returned Cecil frigidly. The journalist was the very last person he wanted to see at Blanford, and he did not take any pains to disguise the fact.
Marchmont, however, was not to be snubbed, and remarking cheerfully that there was always enough for one more, calmly proceeded in the direction of the hampers. Once there, he constituted himself chef and butler forthwith, and moreover proved so efficient in both capacities that, irritated as his friend was at his self-assurance, he could not but express his appreciation.