“Is Selby-Harrison here?”
“No. He wrote from Dublin. He’s been looking up the subject of bishops in the college library so that we’d know exactly what we ought to do.”
“He should have looked up simony first thing. I can’t forgive Selby-Harrison for letting you in for those severe penalties.”
“There wasn’t a bit of harm in what he said. It was nearly all out of the Bible and the ancient Fathers of the Church and Councils and things. It couldn’t have been simony. You have his letter, haven’t you, Hilda? Read it out.”
Hilda opened the small bag she always carries and took out the letter. It looked to me a very long one.
“I don’t know,” I said, “that Selby-Harrison’s letter really matters unless you read it out to the Archdeacon.”
“We didn’t get the chance,” said Lalage, “although we meant to.”
“Then you needn’t read it to me.”
“We must. Otherwise you won’t know why we went to see the Archdeacon.”
“Couldn’t you give me in a few words a general idea of the contents of the letter?”