“Well, men admire him in an intellectual capacity.”
“A general favourite? Most insipid!”
“Really, Rosalie!” said Miss Crokerly, and she laughed.
“You cannot expect me to love him. A man should always be loyal to his superior.”
“Well, of course, I am only giving you my own opinion. And you must not repeat it on any account; because it is not generally believed or certain that he might be prompted by motives of ambition to make known the incident of the handkerchief.”
“I hope that if the High Priest does resign someone less self-seeking takes his place.”
“Than Golden Priest Alphonso? But that is scarcely likely. He has Mr. Barringcourt for his great friend, and—What is the matter, Rosalie? Your cheeks are all aflame.”
“Oh! I—I—I’ve had springes of toothache all day, and the sudden pain makes me flush. I’m all right now. What were you saying?”
“Alphonso is sure to succeed to the High Priestship sooner or later. He has much influence on his side—the Prime Minister, and Lord High All Superior for public and official friends, and Mr. Barringcourt, whom I just mentioned, who has great influence in outside circles, and more money apparently than even poor Geoffrey Todbrook had. Now there’s a man for you to dislike cordially on the grounds of general favouritism. The women idolise him, and men will hear no wrong of him.”
“And what kind of a life does he lead? Is he a good man?” asked Rosalie, leaning forward and looking across at her.