The bishop rose, stately, portly, splendid.
"Mr. Rose," he said, "to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? I am rather pressed for time."
"Something very important, indeed, my lord," the Socialist answered, in quick, incisive accents. "I should not have intruded upon you unless I had something most special to say."
"I understand that, Mr. Rose," the bishop replied, though the courteous smile with which he said it robbed his remark of something of its sting. "You and I, Mr. Rose, represent two quite different points of view, do we not?"
"I suppose we do," said the great Socialist, with a sudden vigour and amusement in his eyes; "but that is not what I have come here for to-night. May I ask, my lord," he said, looking towards Lord Camborne's son, "may I ask if this is Lord Hayle?"
"That is my name, Mr. Rose," the young man replied, rather startled at the sudden question.
"Oh, thank you," Rose said. "I have come here specially to see you to-night."
There was a moment's pause.
"Your business, Mr. Rose?" said the bishop once more.
"Is this," Rose rejoined. "The Duke of Paddington has sent me with a very special message to his friend, Lord Hayle. If Lord Hayle was not in London, his grace asked me to see Lord Camborne."