CHAPTER XVII
The day came at last when the Bishop of Sunbury was to deliver his address on the future of religion.
St Paul’s had been considered too small to contain the large assemblage of worshippers who were anxious to hear the prelate, and it had therefore been arranged for him to speak to the crowd from the steps of the Cathedral. Churchmen were not the only ones interested in the long-promised message, but the world at large was eager to learn what the ex-dignitary would tell them concerning the great riddle: What makes a Bishop a Bishop?
It was one of these particularly English summer days, towards the middle of July, in which the sun declined to appear in person. But the atmosphere was none the less festive because the sun played truant; and to most Londoners the weather was a symbol of true modesty. Mayfair, Belgravia, Kensington—in fact, every district of the metropolis was represented in the crowd that thronged the Cathedral square. Those who preferred to remain at home or were too unwell to attend the meeting, would be kept au courant through the telephones; for it is only fair to say that the School of Accuracy in the Delivery of News had completely metamorphosed the temperaments of citizens, who, since the collapse of newspapers, were genuinely struck by the dramatic power of a plain fact.
The crowd was large, but it did not at any time become rowdy. The charioteers drove up Fleet Street in two lines and placed themselves all round St Paul’s; while the pedestrian strolled leisurely under the wide arcades. The recalcitrants, who were now a very small minority, had prophesied a dismal dénouement to this meeting, and in order to be safely out of danger, had secured their places at an early date, in the dining-halls of the former shops. They reached their seats at an unearthly hour, although the homily was announced for the afternoon; but the recalcitrants remembered what they had suffered at the Diamond Jubilee in getting to their places, and nothing on earth could convince them that it would not be just the same for the Bishop’s address. So, there they were, from five o’clock in the morning, making themselves as comfortable as possible; first ringing for their breakfast, then later on telephoning for luncheon. Shortly before the time announced for the address, a party of friends might be seen in one of the large shop windows enjoying their afternoon tea. Seated in front was Mrs Archibald, with Lord Mowbray behind her; these two held closely to one another, and kept up the old traditions of bon ton, for they firmly believed that Society was rushing to its ruin. Eva Sinclair, good-naturedly had given up joining her husband in the crowd, so as to accompany poor Alicia Archibald, who declared that she could never think of seeing the show without one of her set. Next to these two sat Lady Carey, who, although she had assented to all the modern reforms, had drawn the line at such a public réunion as this one. She had begged Gwen to escort her, as she could not bring herself to stay away and follow the development of the meeting through her telephone. Montagu Vane was leaning on the back of her chair, while Gwen and Nettie Collins made themselves useful at the buffet.
On the other side of the churchyard was Mrs Pottinger, with a good many of the American colony. They had absolutely declined Mrs Archibald’s invitation to join her at the windows of the dining-halls, preferring to mix with the crowd under the arcades. Beside her stood her Royal Guide, although she might by this time have very well dispensed with his services, but she kept him for Auld Lang Syne, and for all the fun she had formerly derived from the Royal Family; and perhaps also because she thought it would do him good, for she was not an ungrateful woman.
“I see that the American colony has at last emerged from its voluntary seclusion,” said Lionel to Danford, as they drove up and took their position close to the steps.
“Yes, my lord, they retired to learn the art of observation, and have achieved the task they set themselves to. Not only do they now recognise the people they knew, but they have actually acquired the faculty of putting names on to the faces they did not know.”
“I am struck by the attitude of the American women. They move with the same grace and ease as when Doucet and Paquin turned them out into the social market.”
“You are right, my lord, they have made nature herself quite elegant, and are teaching dowdy mother Eve a lesson in deportment.”