“Timothy says so or seems to say so. Perhaps he didn’t really. What is the proper, regularly received interpretation of that text which says that a bishop is to be the husband of one wife?”
“There are several.”
“The Archdeacon is sure to know them, I suppose.”
“Oh, yes. He’s certain to know them.”
“He’ll want them all this afternoon. Lalage is going to him with that text drawn in her hand. She’s also taking Miss Battersby, a wedding ring, a cake, and a white satin dress. I’m speaking figuratively of course.”
“I hope so. But however figurative your way of putting it may be, I’m afraid that the Archdeacon won’t be pleased.”
“So I told Lalage. But she’s quite certain that he will. I should say myself that he’d dislike it several degrees more than he did the simony. I often think it’s a pity the Archdeacon hasn’t any sense of humour.”
“No sense of humour would enable him to see that joke.”
“Thormanby,” I said, “has been employed all morning in writing letters and appealing telegrams to Miss Pettigrew; but even if she comes it will be too late.”
“I hope Miss Battersby hasn’t been told.”